


Persona Dream

by Rycaster



Series: Persona Dream [1]
Category: Persona Series
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Dreams vs. Reality, Original Character(s), Shadows - Freeform, first-person, persona - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 00:12:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10546736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rycaster/pseuds/Rycaster





	1. Chapter 1

Darkness. Pitch-black darkness. My vision won’t adjust, but I’m not sure if there’s anything worth adjusting to. I reach out to what I believe to be my hand, but with no feeling in my body, it’s hard to tell if I even _have_ a hand. I contemplate on whether to move my feet or stand my ground. An overwhelming sense of dread grasps my heart and stomach simultaneously with a vicious grip.

~ _…his w…~_

A quiet voice from beyond the silence echoes in my ears. I can’t decide where it’s coming from – it feels like it’s everywhere and nowhere all at once. This time, when I try to move, I find the will to shuffle forward slightly.

~ _...llow…m…~_

The voice calls again, louder this time, but not any clearer. It’s almost as if the darkness is swallowing the sound. The sheets of black around me ebb and flow like water, creating a sensation I can only compare to drowning in a lakebed. I try to touch my hand to my face, but the surface of my skin feels foreign.

A new sound catches my attention – the gentle sound of a tiny bell, each set of rings a few seconds apart. This time, the sound has a definite direction, finally locking me into some sort of spatial awareness. With my surroundings in check, I make my way cautiously but deliberately towards the sound.

~ _…follow…voice…~_

“Who’s there?!” I call out, but my voice doesn’t carry.

Hearing no response, I move faster, the metallic sound of the beckoning bell growing louder. As my light jog continues, the unending blackness slowly transitions into a dark teal crystalline fog. The fog is just as thick as the darkness I’ve left behind; I still can’t see my own body.

~ _This way…hurry…~_

I continue to follow the bell and the voice with purpose, my feet making nearly no sound on the floor below. I’m not entirely positive if I’m getting closer or not, but I’m at least headed in the right direction…I think.

My feet eventually crunch against a new surface, one that feels and sounds like poorly maintained concrete. The fog slowly lessens, but it doesn’t reveal much. I can now make out dark massive shapes on either side of me, but the dense teal fog masks even these giant structures. My best guess is that I’m on a city street of some kind, but the clouds are too thick to be sure.

Further out into the fog, I see another dark shape, only this one looks like it could be about my size. I squint a little, trying to focus on whoever – or whatever – it is.

Suddenly, the bell rings with such incredible ferocity it brings me to my knees. It’s as if a child was handed a large bell as a toy and was enjoying the torment of the people around them. I clutch my ears, but it doesn’t help. The sound appears to have made its way into my own brain.

Somehow, the voice calls out overtop the violent ringing of the bell, clearly coming from the shape down the road.

_~Come find me. Now’s the time. Your story has just begun.~_

**{~}**

A jolt ripples through my body and I’m jettisoned back into reality. I immediately bring my hands to my face, comforted by the familiarity of my own skin. With a groan, I rub the length of my face with my open palms. I bring my left thumb and pointer finger to the bridge of my nose and gently massage my tear ducts.

The chair beneath me is less than comfortable, my legs twisted to get as suited for sleep as I possibly can. My pillow is propped up vertically against the wall to my right, and while the side of my face is left warm from the pillow’s velvet embrace, the back of my right hand is chilled. Apparently it slipped off the cushion and had been resting against the narrow window beside me. Beyond the thin sheet of glass is a dull, dark blue horizon, with barely a hint of orange from the rising sun. The occasional mountaintop busts through the layer of clouds.

_Another nightmare…it was just another nightmare…_

I examine the cabin of the airplane, the steady rumbling of the engine providing the perfect white noise. The majority of the passengers are asleep, save for one or two people on their phones. I reach into the pocket of my black sweatpants to pull out a phone of my own.

The lock screen reads 6:14 AM on Saturday, August 19th, 2017.

I shake my head. I wasn’t planning on waking up this early, that’s for sure.

Thankfully, this row is empty save for myself. I swing my legs out to the cabin floor, my muscles aching under the effort of lying in my cramped sleeping position. I slip my feet into the flip-flops I had dropped to the floor. Stepping over my dark gray crossbody bag, bursting at the seams with basic necessities, I walk the length of the aisle to reach the bathroom in the back.

With the light on and the lock flipped to ‘occupied’, I throw the sink on and toss handfuls of cold water onto my face. My eyes meet my own in the mirror. I find my short brown hair darkened with grease. My dark brown eyes are clearly bloodshot and bag-ridden. I attempt to rearrange my tousled hair, but it won’t cooperate. I angrily sigh to myself and stare into my own eyes through the mirror, my image stained with water splotches and whatever else had splashed onto the glass in this plane’s decades of operation.

I had gotten up incredibly early to make this flight, but I’ve already been losing sleep within the past week to begin with. Nightmares have nearly become a daily occurrence, and at this point, it’s just getting annoying. The majority of them have been vivid enough to mess with me for the rest of the day…but that one was especially real.

As I look into the mirror, a low ringing echoes through the back of my skull and pain washes over my head. I instinctively bring my hand to the back of my neck, trying to wring out whatever is causing the sudden throbbing. My eyes squeeze shut.

~ _…wken…wer…~_

My eyes snap open again, the pain gone just as quickly as it appeared.

_The hell was that…?_

As my eyes line up with my reflection’s, my vision glazes over and my image subtly shifts – not in any discernible way, but just enough to send a chill up my spine. The face I’ve seen for eighteen years becomes unfamiliar, causing my stomach to churn and adrenaline to course through my veins. I shake my head, as if that would help. I break eye contact with the mirror and escape the bathroom, shutting the door behind me much louder than I should have. Thankfully my hasty movements didn’t seem to cause any stirring.

“Everything alright?”

A quiet yet unexpected whisper causes my heart to jump to my throat. I look to my left to see a man I noticed earlier on his phone. He seems somewhat young, possibly in his early-to-mid twenties, though it’s hard to tell with so little light. His business casual attire is unbuttoned and loose. He, too, is alone in his row, his only company being a full yet slim messenger bag in the window seat.

“Tired,” is all I can say with how exhausted and disoriented I am.

“A plane’s the best place for a nap,” he states with a shrug.

I groggily nod, not able to give him much for an answer. Maybe it’s rude of me, but I walk away from him without saying anything else. I’m not about to have a conversation with a random guy on a plane.

The man gives a short wave as I walk off. I stumble my way through the dark cabin until I find my way back to my seat and I curl up against the window. My heavy-as-stone eyelids clamp shut almost immediately. Eventually, I finally fall back asleep.

**{~}**

“Sir…sir…”

Begrudgingly, my eyes creak open. A stewardess who’s way too close for comfort is coaxing me out of my seat.

“Sir, we’ve arrived in Gode, North Dakota,” she says in a motherly tone. “Please gather your belongings and head for the exit. Thank you for flying with us and have a wonderful day!”

I thank the woman as I rise to my feet, bones cracking and muscles stretching. Swinging my crossbody bag over my shoulder, I follow the last remaining passengers out of the plane. The stale air in the docking tunnel is followed by the deafening sounds of the crowd. Midday traffic in a major city airport can rarely be topped, and this is clearly no exception. Families keep their young children close by, businessmen and women scurry from one end of the facility to the other, and blue-suited workers aim to keep the crowd moving efficiently. A murmuring sea of inaudible conversation fills what empty space remains. Pamphlets and information packets are shoved in my direction as I walk by; I ignore every last one of them.

I plop down on a bench by a large window, patiently waiting for my suitcase to cycle around on a large conveyer belt. From here, I can see the expanse of the tarmac. A stark white plane roars as it leaves the ground, carrying its passengers off to wherever they may be headed. The tall wall of glass further amplifies the heat outside.

“-so the sun is here to stay this week. Back to you, Don.”

Walls of television screens near baggage claim are playing the local news station. A presentable weatherman has just signed off, passing the attention on to the main anchor, a dark-skinned man in a black suit and navy blue tie.

“Thanks, Roger. Glad to hear we can finally put away those umbrellas. In local news, doctors are still unable to conjure an explanation for the sudden onset of comas happening across the city.”

My attention abruptly moves from the window to the television.

“There seem to be no links between the reported comatose individuals, though the proximity of these unexplained cases are leaving some worried. Researchers on the case are assuring everyone that these are isolated incidents and there is no reason for concern.”

“Have you heard anything about that?”

The man on the plane who greeted me as I came out of the bathroom has unknowingly appeared in front of me. My heart nearly skips a beat when his voice catches me by surprise.

_What’s with this guy and starting conversations like this?_

“No, I haven’t,” I reply. “What’s going on?”

The man’s face contorts and he shrugs his shoulders.

“No one’s really sure,” he admits. “Old man downtown went to bed, didn’t wake up. Not dead, but still sleeping. Couldn’t get him to wake up. Next day, little girl doesn’t wake up from a nap. Same deal, only she’s living at the other end of the city. About nine other people – kids, parents, teens – all of ‘em end up in comas, too, none of them connected or related at all. All within the span of a few weeks.”

I look back at the TV, seeing the news anchor has brought on a professional to talk about the comas in an interview.

“Are they gonna be okay?” I ask the man while still looking at the television.

“Nobody’s sure. In terms of health, they’re totally fine. But they won’t wake up. They’ve got all the victims in hospitals for monitoring. Top doctors and scientists on the case. Normally, this wouldn’t be a big deal. Comas happen. But this many without cause? It’s got people on edge.”

The man moves to sit next to me, laying his messenger bag across his lap. Now that I can see him in the daylight, he looks to be more in his early thirties. He’s dressed up in dark navy pleated pants, a sky blue collared button-up, a gray blazer, and a brown leather belt to match his bag. His medium-brown hair has just a twinge of gray and is tousled up, but in a seemingly intentional style. Anyone on the street would assume he’s a clean-cut businessman, but on closer inspection, the way he twiddles with his fingers and talks in bursts makes him seem somewhat innocent and awkward.

“So, what brings you here to North Dakota?” he inquires.

I look him up and down, slightly concerned why some random stranger is so incessantly interested in me. I can’t tell if it’s creepy or polite, but I’m banking on the former. Having dealt with panhandlers before, I figure it’s best to start and end a conversation quickly.

“School,” I tell him.

“Really? Where at?”

“Gode University.”

His eyebrows rocket upwards.

“You’re going to college? Here?” he declares. “You couldn’t get farther away from New York without ending up in the middle of nowhere.”

“That’s the idea,” I admit dryly. “What’re you here for?”

His eyes urgently dart around and his grip on his messenger bag slightly tightens. This movement doesn’t go unnoticed to me.

“O-oh, me? Well, uh, i-it’s, uh…it’s a secret. Basically, my company is relocating me, but I’m under NDA. I can’t say much else.”

He seems to spot a behemoth of a suitcase emerging from the receptacle behind him and he stands to retrieve it, almost like he’s relieved for an excuse to end this conversation. After picking up his bag, his hand darts inside, rustles around, and pulls out a business card. He excitedly offers the it forward, which I hesitantly accept. Scrawled across the card is the name “Charles Mink”. It also lists his cell number, and in the corner is a strange red logo that I don’t recognize – I assume it’s for his company.

“City folk gotta stick together, y’know?” he says with a somewhat dorky grin. “My office isn’t all that far from the GU campus. Shoot me a call sometime if you need anything.”

My stare bounces between him and the card until I decide to respond with a weak smile and place the card in my wallet.

“Will do,” I say. My own wheeling suitcase emerges onto the belt as well, though I stop myself from standing. If Charles is going in the same general direction, I hatch a plan to wait for him to get a head start on me. I ignore the bag entirely and wait for it to make its rounds.

“Well, I’ll catch you later,” Charles declares as he walks off with a wave. “Good luck with your first day!”

“Thanks,” I reply with a half-assed wave.

_Thank god that’s over._

Once Charles is finally out of eyesight, I leap to my feet and snatch my suitcase from the belt before it disappears back into the wall. As I pass by the window again, I catch a glimpse of something moving out of the corner of my eye. It looked like something was flying past the window – a butterfly, perhaps – but when I turn to look, it disappears.

“I assure you,” says the researcher on the news broadcast behind me. “There is nothing to be concerned about-…”

“Sorry Dr. Richards, I hate to interrupt you,” says the newscaster. “I’ve just been informed there’s been confirmed reports of two more comatose victims…”

 

**{~}**

**_-Saturday, August 19 th, 2017-_ **

**_-Morning-_ **

**_< Downtown Gode, North Dakota>_ **

The buildings of the city become nothing more than a multicolor blur as the bus careens through the streets. Earbuds rest in my ears, beats and lyrics drowning out the meaningless conversations of the fellow passengers. In true metropolitan city fashion, a homeless person is propped up in the back corner of the vehicle completely passed out. How he got the money to get on the bus in the first place is beyond me.

I withdraw a pamphlet on Gode University from my bag and unfold it to find a campus map. Supposedly, the campus is positioned near the center of the city. Street crosswalks on campus are emblazoned with the university’s symbol – a Native American-style bird with its wings outstretched. Orientation emails and the initiation pamphlet make it a point that, once you stop seeing the stylized crosswalks, you’ve left the campus.

Once a lush, green park with a massive fountain in the center comes into view, I know I’ve made it to the right street. I tug on the cord above me to signal the driver to come to a halt. Disembarking the bus, a rush of familiar yet new senses come to me. I’ve always been a city kid; while others would find being dwarfed by the towering buildings intimidating, I find it strangely comforting. Compared to New York, the buildings here in Gode have a much more modern design to them. The air is noticeably cleaner, as well, with pollution not even coming close to the thick smog of NYC. I take a deep breath in, the warm and welcoming sunlight beating down on my neck. Down the block past the park is a structure somewhat resembling a small 11-floor hotel: my home for the school year.

As I walk closer to the dorm building, I start to notice multiple cars with their hazards on along the sidewalk, stretching in a line around the block. Other teens my age are piling out with their parents, unloading suitcases, backpacks, and all kinds of furniture. School housing is allowing everyone to rent massive rolling bins to carry their belongings to their rooms, though I have no need for one. My crossbody bag and my suitcase are all I have.

Passing by the parking deck neighboring the building, I weasel my way into the dorm room lobby. Once I’m in, however, the loud hectic crowd makes it difficult to discern where I’m supposed to go. I follow a group of other students into a common room behind the lobby, thinking this is where we’re headed.

Unfortunately, it looks like the current of the crowd was just as confused as I am – there’s nothing of importance in this room other than some lounge chairs and a door leading out to a courtyard. I aim to ask someone for help on where to go, but before I can manage a sound, a slight twinge of a headache appears quickly and strongly in the back of my head. I prop myself up against the wall of this common room, trying to support myself and rest for a minute. I figure the plane ride may have done a number on me.

Without warning, a wave of nausea washes over me. I stumble on my feet, and end up falling into one of the leather lounge chairs. A dull ringing echoes within my skull and very quickly rises in volume. As if in a movie, everything around me blurs in slow motion, colors streaking and flowing through my vision. The sounds of the other students become muffled, like I’m hearing them from inside a bubble. I tightly shut my eyes and my hand rushes to my forehead.

_~Awaken…power…~_

_Oh god, not again…_

“Are you a new arrival?”

The ringing comes to a sudden halt and my head snaps up to attention, the quick movement jolting both earbuds out of my ears. Everything around me has gone eerily silent, as if the ambient sound ceased to exist. Across from me, sitting in another chair, is a man in a deep blue trench coat. He holds a clipboard in his gloved hands, tightly pressed to his chest as if he’s protecting it with his life. He has an aura about him that forbids me from taking any of my attention away from him. I look up at his face, and realize he’s abnormally pale.

Even more striking, however, are his neon yellow irises.

“Would it be too much trouble to get a bit of information from you?” he asks in a posh European accent.

_What the hell is happening to me…?_

“Do not worry, my boy,” he says in an attempt to reassure me. “University is a tough transition for young men and women. We are here to assist you as best our skills will allow.”

“Who…who _are_ you?” I force out.

The man lightly chuckles under his breath.

“I would wager that who _you_ are is vastly more important, wouldn’t you agree?” He grins as he leans towards me, as if expecting a reaction. Not getting one, he simply continues, snatching a pen from behind his ear, poking out behind silver locks of hair. “Now, may I get your full name?” he inquires, with the clicked pen hovering over the clipboard.

“Tyson Rayne,” I tell him.

“Would you spell that out for me?”

I do so, and his pen scribbles across the paper in response.

“Thank you, sir. Now, may I get your hometown?”

“New York, New York.”

“Birthdate?”

“January 4th, 1999.”

“Blood type?”

“What? Why does that matter?”

“My apologies, sir; it’s on the form. I have a job to do, after all.”

“…Type O.”

“Thank you.”

He asks me a few more questions, such as social security number, emergency contact information, and home address, all the while scratching away on the clipboard. I robotically feed him the answers he needs, as if this was what I was here to do in the first place.

“Alright, that concludes the personal information,” he states. “There are a few questions I would like to ask you, if it isn’t too much trouble? A little university initiation, if you will.”

“I guess so…” I reply.

“Wonderful!” The man flips the page over to a new one and taps the tip of the pin to his tongue. “First question; where would you say your life is right now?”

My face goes blank when I hear the question.

“Uh…at college?”

“No, no, no,” the man says, waving his hand. “Not where, but _where?_ ”

“That doesn’t narrow it down.”

“The quality of that which enriches one’s life, such as your friends and family. Is it easy to get out of bed in the morning? Are you excited for the next day? Things like that.”

I’m taken aback by how personal the question is. Why would a college need to know something like this?

“I…I don’t know,” I say, scrambling for an answer. “I…”

“Perfect,” he replies with gusto. His hand goes to the page once again.

“You didn’t even give me time to answer!”

“The first thing said is the most honest answer, my boy,” the man responds with an earnest smirk. “Just a few more questions. Secondly – what are your ambitions? What do you hope to accomplish within the year?”

I pause, this time coming up with an answer before speaking. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of cutting me off again.

“To find a purpose,” I tell him honestly.

“Aha, good…” he ponders, seeming genuinely interested. “That is what life is all about, is it not? Especially at this age, we don’t all know what we hope to accomplish right away. It’s a time for hope and exploration in one’s self.”

“R-right…” I concur.

“Alright, now, one more question, my boy…will you, Tyson Rayne, take full responsibility for the decisions you make going forward, even if the result is one you don't like?"

“Will I-…what? Is this some legal thing?”

“This one does require a proper answer, unfortunately,” he retorts, a stoic seriousness in his voice.

“Well…I mean…I guess so. Yeah, I will.”

“Brilliant,” he says, jotting down my response. He reorganizes the papers and turns the board to me, handing over the pen. “If you would please sign right down here at the bottom of the page.”

I accept the pen and scratch my signature on the line, marking down the date of ‘08/18/17’ beside it. The man brightly grins and recalls the pen and board.

“Thank you so much, my boy,” he says. He reaches into his trench coat and pulls out a thin pamphlet. “Within this packet lie the general rules and regulations for your dorm, as well as your electronic access key. It will grant you access to the building, your room, and the elevator. Your student ID is in there as well, as is the key to your mailbox. Your room number is 920 A, and your mailbox is 96.”

I open the packet, finding my identification card first. On it is the picture I had sent the school for my application – a horribly lit mugshot of a photo – my name, and my identification number. Just as the man said, information is in the back of the cardstock slip, though what stands out is the RFID access card. Instead of being white like I expected, it’s a very light, nearly pastel, lavender color, embroidered with intricate designs along the border and a half-shaded, half-blank mask in the center. It almost looks like a trading card. Flipping it in my hand, I notice both sides are identical.

“Welcome to Gode University, Tyson,” he says, gloved hand outstretched. I shake it out of courtesy, though as I do, he places his other hand on top of mine. “We’ll meet again soon.”

The ringing in my head reappears, though it comes to a quick and sudden halt at its highest pitch. As if by magic, the world around me has refocused, the disorientation is gone, and the man in the trench coat vanishes. The ambient sounds of the students around me have returned to its normal volume.

_Alright, this shit is getting stupid._

Wanting nothing more than to get to my dorm room for some peace of mind, I enter the elevator with another batch of students and their parents. One of them holds their white card up to the scanner and presses the button for the second floor; while the timer is still active, I tap the button for the ninth floor. As I ride the elevator silently, I sneak my strangely colored access card into the backside of my wallet and my student ID behind my driver’s license. Once I reach the ninth floor, one other student with her father exits the elevator alongside me and continues down the hallway while I hang back to gather my surroundings.

Beside the three elevator shafts is a large window stretching the entire wall, providing a fantastic view of the city skyline. Highways weave between towering structures and tiny people occupy the streets like ants. Even farther into the distance lie lush, green mountains draped in wisps of clouds. Past the elevators is a common room, with a large table in the center and a couple tall chairs. A TV hangs on the wall in the corner, and another large window shows more of the inner city. On the right side of the room is a small laundry room with windows leading in; none of the machines seem to be in use at the moment. Hallways branch off from this center room, leading to the dorms themselves.

I venture down the left hallway, following the numbers marked on the plaques and find room 920. The door’s scanner releases with a _buzz_ and a _click_ in response to the RFID card in my wallet. I swing it open, tugging my suitcase behind me. I find myself in a small central annex, walls painted an off-white color. Around the corner from the door are two bathroom sinks on a granite counter. Four other doors line the walls of this annex. Two are labeled A and B, while the unmarked one on the right wall leads to nothing but a small, cramped shower, and the one on the left wall houses a toilet.

Room A is surprisingly cozy – I expected a dorm room to be considerably more cramped. A bare mattress is raised up on wooden posts, allowing a pale wooden dresser and a cabinet to be conveniently tucked in the space underneath. A small desk is provided as well, placed underneath the blinded window, as well as a cheap plastic chair.

I spend some time settling into my new space. The bed I can now call my own is draped in light gray sheets and a thick night-black comforter, with two pillows propped up against the headrest. The bottom pillow is round and full in its brand new case, meanwhile the top pillow has clearly seen better days; its cover is stained and the pillow itself is nearly flattened from years of use. Clothes are organized in the dresser, and the rest of my belongings are set up in my closet and the bathroom. I set my laptop down on my desk and put my backpack in the empty chair. A quick shower later, and I finally feel refreshed and relaxed for the first time since I left my home this morning.

Out of curiosity, I take a stealthy peak into room B. No surprise, it’s completely barren, though otherwise it’s a mirror image of room A. I’ve emailed my roommate before about what we’re bringing; all I know about him is his name is Emile and he lives outside the city. We haven’t talked much past that point, but he seems friendly enough. That’s really all I can hope for out of a roommate.

The lock screen on my phone informs me that it’s a little after noon, but my eyelids feel heavier than they ever have before, and the jet lag sure isn’t helping. I assume Emile will be here eventually, but with complete and total silence, I decide now is the best time to take a power nap…especially with all the weird shit that’s been happening today.

Not wanting to mess up an, admittedly, well-made bed, I lie flat on the surface of the sheets instead. The smooth texture of the comforter and the soft caress of the mattress immediately wash a wave of relaxation over my weary body, pulling me deep into sleep’s delicate daze.

 

**{~}**

Colors and sounds dance and wave through the air. Everything around me flows like mist. Muffled music fades into existence; slowly but surely, it evolves into the melody of a beautiful grand piano. The smooth splotches of color bend in the rhythm of the music, creating a trance-like bliss.

The colors shift, morphing into new shapes. At first, they seem nonsensical; curved splashes of reds, green, blues, yellows, and anything in between with minimal coherency. However, over time, their patterns become cleaner, and the music grows stronger with them. The aria of colors shift to settle on warm blues and deep violets, meticulously crafting a strangely beautiful scene.

Very quickly, the comfort of the colors becomes more and more vivid. What looks like a counter takes shape in front of me and a stool with a soft cushion materializes underneath me. The counter stretches the length of a dark, elegant room. I’m not sure what material the counter is made of, as it has the texture of mahogany but the striking color of a hydrangea. Behind the counter are rows upon rows of stacked shelves, full of bottles of various sizes, shapes, and hues. I piece together that I’m in some type a bar…but why?

Amid the confusion, a shadowy lanky figure wisps into view behind the bar. The image has not yet taken its full form, but coming from it is a voice: one that’s haunting, reassuring, knowledgeable, and almost seductive. Its long arm gestures to me.

“Welcome…to the Velvet Room.”


	2. Chapter 2

The imp-like figure standing behind the bar is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. No man or woman I’ve met, not even in the depths of the New York subway, has ever given off the sort of air this strange man exudes. A black suit covers his hunched back, his shoulders bony and drooped. His arms have an unnatural length and width to them, resembling a well-dressed skeleton. Gloved fingers interlocked, he leans over the bar, his elbows on the wooden surface. The man grins, and a shock runs through my very core. I hope and pray to whatever god is out there that he never smiles again. His toothy upturned maw stretches from pointy ear to pointy ear, and his gleeful, bulging, bloodshot eyes seem ready to pop out of his balding head. The most defining characteristic, however, further emphasized with his hands resting underneath it, is his absolutely gargantuan nose. It stretches far beyond his face, further than any natural nose should.

“I am Igor, the master of this place. I am delighted to make your acquaintance.”

The velvety tone of his voice only serves to make him more unnerving – this is the type of person parents warn their children about. Every word hangs in the air with a breathy importance, though a positive or negative one, I can’t be sure. His globular eyes stare me down, looking deep under my skin, down to the very depths of my soul.

“Wh-where am I?” I stammer out. “What’s happening? Who are you?!”

“Please, my dear guest,” the man – Igor – reassures me with the wave of a hand. “Calm yourself. All your questions will be answered in due time. For now, the human reality is fast asleep. You are merely experiencing this as a dream.”

Following his answer, Igor chuckles – as if I needed another reason to be utterly terrified of this guy _._

“You are in a place that exists between dreams and reality,” he says. “Mind and matter. Only those who are bound by a ‘contract’ may enter this place. We are honored to welcome you here as a guest of the Velvet Room.”

“Contract? What’re you talking about?” I exclaim.

Igor waves his hand above the surface of the bar, and seemingly from nowhere, a painfully familiar clipboard phases into existence between the two of us. Marked at the very bottom is my signature and the date, the same signature I had jotted down just today.

“What kind of game are you playing?” I snap. “This was for my dorm agreement. Where did you get this?”

“I sent my assistant with the goal of summoning you here,” Igor responds with yet another haunting grin. “Despite what your intentions to signing may have been, it has allowed you enter this place. We will provide you our services…so long as you abide by the contract, and assume responsibility for the choices you make.”

“Assistant?” I ask.

The memory comes back to me. The man in the trench coat with white hair and a piercing yellow gaze…

“Unfortunately, he could not make it this evening,” Igor says with a lull in his voice. “Though he sends his warmest regards. You will surely meet him upon your return here.”

“What kind of services are you talking about?” I backtrack. “This is just some bar.”

“This world reflects the state of your own heart,” Igor says. “It transforms to suit our guest’s… _unique_ tastes. Perhaps you enjoy the finer things in life?” Igor follows this statement with a chuckle.

“But I don’t drink.”

“Then perhaps there’s another reason this world has formed as such,” Igor states with a sullen smile. “Whatever the reason may be, it will become clear in time.

“Our meeting tonight is coming to a close,” he says. “I expect to see you here again in the near future. Until then, I bid you a fond farewell.”

Before I can respond, in the same fashion that this world faded into view, it melts into a flurry of color, leaving me with more questions than answers on the final chords of a gorgeous piano arrangement.

 

**{~}**

**_-Saturday, August 19 th, 2017-_ **

**_-Afternoon-_ **

**_< Vale Central, Room 920>_ **

A groan escapes my lips as my eyes open back up. With the light to my room off, it’s blatantly obvious that a good amount of time has passed during my nap. A light haze looms over me, causing me to be more sluggish than I likely should be.

Guess I can attribute that to sleeping at one in the afternoon.

_CLANG!_

_“Sssshit!”_

I nearly leap to the ceiling when a loud sound of distress echoes from out in the hallway. I bound to the door and place my eye against the peephole, finding…

Nothing.

Confused, I slowly turn the handle of the door and peek outside, and what I find is…unexpected. Lying facedown on the ground with his limbs sprawled out in all directions is a Hispanic boy who looks to be about as old as I am. He’s dressed in a white graphic tee with a thin off-red fabric cardigan overtop of it. His black jeans have stylized tears in them, and a black beanie rests on top of a messy mop of dark brown hair. Multiple leather bracelets line his right forearm. Surrounding him are a bunch of cardboard boxes that have spilled their contents all over the hallway floor.

_What the hell…?_

The boy lets out a pained groan. His hand clenches up in a fist as he tries to prop himself up.

“Son of a _bitch_ …” he hisses out of clenched teeth.

“U-um…” I stutter with deadpan confusion. “Are…are you okay?”

Despite him not making eye contact with me, he doesn’t flinch at all when he realizes I’m watching him.

“Nah, dude,” he quips in a snarky tone. “I’m lying on the floor for fun. Smells great down here.”

“I told you to tie your shoes!”

I hear another singsong voice from down the hallway, and around the corner appears a short redhead girl with a large box in her arms. Her striking orange hair is cut short, about halfway down the ears, though the right side of it flips upward and out, giving her hairdo a sideways swoosh. She’s definitely paler than the both of us by a significant margin; must come with the hair. The sleeves of her sky blue button-up are rolled up to the elbows and the bottom corners are knotted and tied together at her sternum. A gold necklace dangles down in front of her light gray undershirt, and gold-framed sunglasses rest on her forehead. The lenses are strikingly dark and reflective. Her navy blue skinny jeans roll up to the midpoint of her calves, and her bright white sneakers tap against the floor as she comes toward us.

“You’re not my mom, Ally!” the Floor Guy calls out to the girl as he pushes himself up to his feet. Just as the redhead pointed out, the laces of his black platform boots are a tangled mess. As he brushes himself off, he side-eyes the plaque by the doorframe. “So, you’re my roommate, huh?”

“ _You’re_ Emile?” I ask.

_Great, my roommate’s an idiot who can’t even tie his shoes._

“Yep, that’s the name,” he says with a snarky flair. “Don’t wear it out.”

“Stop being a jerk, Emile,” Ally says. She drops the box next to a huge pile of stuff beside the door that I hadn’t noticed until now. She had clearly been straining herself under the box’s weight.

“Heh, don’t worry, I’m just teasing him,” Emile says with a chuckle. He sticks his open palm out toward me. “Nice to meet’cha, man. Tyson, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” I respond, returning the handshake.

“Oh, and this is my friend Ally,” Emile says, gesturing toward the girl.

“Don’t let him bother you too much,” she says with a bright, beaming grin. “He can be a bit of a handful.”

“H-hey, _now_ who’s bein’ a jerk?!” Emile snaps as he turns to pick up the junk that came tumbling out of his boxes.

‘Junk’ isn’t an understatement, either. It doesn’t look like the boxes weren’t organized at all. The floor is littered in bathroom stuff, weird metal rods, a single stray sock, poster rolls – basically, I can assume Emile just chucked everything from his room into whatever boxes he could find.

“I don’t even know how you managed to get me to help you in the first place,” Ally says to Emile as she starts moving his stuff inside. She quietly states, “Excuse me,” as she passes by me to get into Emile’s room.

I cram a doorstopper under the front door and help her carry in the rest of his stuff.

“I helped you move _your_ shit in!” Emile calls back.

“You carried in my chair and you sat in it the whole time.”

“Yeah, the chair that’s about twice your size. Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

If these two didn’t look so different, I could have easily mistaken them for siblings. Their constant jabs at each other don’t seem to be mean-spirited, but more like their entire friendship is built on the back-and-forth. Not to mention, despite their strange personalities, they’re the most normal people I’ve met all day.

“Why didn’t you guys get one of those move-in bins?” I ask the duo.

“They ran out of them,” Ally says. “And _somebody_ didn’t want to wait for another one!”

“God gave us arms for a fuckin’ reason!” Emile calls back as he pushes a heavy box across the floor.

Ally closes her eyes and audibly sighs.

“Are you moved in already, Tyson?” she asks, abruptly changing the topic.

“Yeah, I just got here this morning,” I reply.

“Ooh, can I see?”

“There’s not much in there...”

Ally bounds into my room without waiting for a proper answer and takes a look around. The moment she walks in, her shoulders slump and her cheery smile turns into more of a confused scowl. Emile, out of curiosity, follows us in.

“Damn, you weren’t kidding,” he says. “Looks like an open house. You don’t even have any posters or anything?”

“I wasn’t planning on bringing much,” I admit.

“Why don’t you have Ally help you renovate?” Emile suggests, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “Her major is in…y’know, rooms ‘n’…shit.”

“It’s called _interior design_ ,” Ally says, almost offended. Her head cocks to the side with extreme sass. “And, yeah, I hate to admit it, but Emile’s right. You need a splash of life in here. I’d be happy to help you!”

“Sure, why not?” I say with a smirk.

“Tell you what,” Emile says. “Ally and I were planning on going to the store tomorrow to grab some stuff. Why don’t’cha come with us?”

“I’ve got nothing else to do,” I reply, shrugging.

Emile claps his hands and pumps his fist in the air.

“Rad!” he proudly exclaims. He turns to grab the remainder of his stuff. “Now if you don’t mind, I got shit to build.”

_Build…?_

“Yeah, I have to swing by financial aid before classes start up,” Ally says. “I’ll catch up with you guys later. It was nice meeting you, Tyson!”

“You too,” I say.

“Thanks for the help, Al,” Emile says to her.

The spunky redhead bounces out of the room with a wave. Just as Emile said, he closes himself off in his room, getting to work on…whatever it is he’s doing. I decide to leave him to his own devices for now.

_Maybe this won’t be so bad after all._

**{~}**

**_< Unknown location>_ **

****

“Do you still have him targeted?”

“Yes, sir.”

Two men converse between each other. Neither of them can see each other all that well, for the room is dark and dimly lit. The only illumination, if any, comes from the small computer screens before them. The displays show maps, charts, graphs, and radars, all of them beeping and chugging away at cryptic information.

One man sits at his desk, his face buried in a screen. Names and locations line the glass. The man looks up at the other man, standing beside him.

“Uh…why are we doing this again?”

“You know damn well why,” the standing man says, dryly and with authority.

“Y-yes, sir, I know, but…why _him_?”

The standing man paces the room. The soles of his shoes click against the pitch-black floor. He reaches a table, barely lit by a hanging lamp, and begins to sift through a pile of papers.

“He’s _got_ to be the one. I have a hunch.”

“You’ve said that about all of them…s-sir. We _still_ haven’t had any results.”

The standing man walks back to the sitting man, papers in hand.

“He has to be it. If he isn’t, you know what happens to us.”

The sitting man contemplates this thought for a moment, looking back at his monitor. A bar graph rises, and then falls again.

“Do you really think the comas are connected?” he says post silence.

“I don’t know,” the standing man says.

He tosses the papers onto the computer desk, within eyesight of the sitting man. On the top sheet is a picture – a very poorly taken one, at that – of a young male college student, possibly of Native American descent. Dark hair is combed to the side, face well cut and conventionally handsome for his age.

Beside the picture is a name: Tyson Rayne.

The standing man glances up at a larger screen against the far wall of the cramped space. The rings of a radar scan over a map of the city of Gode, North Dakota. Red dots blink across the map like acne. One blinks off sync from all the others.

“But there’s only one way to find out.”

 

**{~}**

 

**_-Evening-_ **

 

For the past hour or so, I’ve been spending my time researching different ideas on how to decorate my dorm room. I’m willing to wager Ally is going to shoot down all my ideas and replace them with her own, but hey, may as well get a head start.

_Clack, clack…clackclack, clack, clackclack…_

A strange rhythmic noise seeps its way through the wall between my room and Emile’s. I can’t entirely tell what it is, but it’s persistent enough to annoy me.

I tap my knuckles against Emile’s door a couple times.

“Yo,” Emile calls out from inside.

As I open the door, it almost feels like I warped somewhere else entirely. Emile’s finished room is the spitting image of a stereotypical music junkie’s cave. Nearly every flat surface is coated in band posters, the ceiling light is turned off in favor of mellower lamps, and, most notable, is the electronic drum kit Emile is sitting behind. The white cord of a pair of earbuds stretches from the drum to Emile’s head, though he’s only got the left one in.

He must have noticed the shock in my face; he gestures out to the rest of the room with his left hand while spinning a drumstick in his right.

“So? What’dya think?” he says with a cocked smile.

“I think you _might_ like music.”

“I’ll give you two more guesses.” He points at me with one of the sticks.

“I guess that explains what you meant about ‘building’.” I gesturing to the drum set.

“Yeah, this bad boy takes some time to set up. I almost didn’t bring it.”

Emile taps out a quick riff on the plastic discs. I can hear the muffled sounds of a real drum set coming out of the right earbud dangling by his chest as he hits each one.

Beside the drum kit is a white guitar propped up on a stand. An orange sunburst design is painted across the front. The end of an unplugged cord lies in front of the stand; the other end is coming from a small amp under Emile’s bed.

“You play guitar too?” I ask.

“Hmm?” Emile looks up from his drum set. “Oh, yeah. I prefer the guitar, actually. If I’m being too loud with any of this, just lemme know, man.”

_That’s…surprisingly courteous, coming from him._

“Oh, no, you’re fine,” I tell him. I _was_ going to ask him to stop, but…seeing the big grin on his face as he played killed that urge.

“Cool, cool,” he says.

There’s an awkward silence between us. Emile rapidly rocks a drumstick back and forth between his pointer and middle finger as he looks around at his own posters.

“So, uh,” I say, breaking the silence. “Your major is…?” I trail off.

“Sound design,” he concludes. “I didn’t even want to go to college at first, but my parents wanted me to, so…” He shrugs. “It’s the closest thing I could get to anything music related. What’re you here for?”

I groan. My hand runs through the hair on the back of my head.

“I don’t really know yet,” I tell him. “I don’t have a major or anything.”

Emile stops fiddling with his drumstick.

“Then why are you here?” he asks, almost accusatory.

Whether that tone was on purpose or not, it comes across that way. The awkward silence returns for a brief moment. Words get caught in my throat; I’m not really sure what to tell him.

“I just wanted a fresh start. That’s all.”

Emile absentmindedly glances around the room as if he’s looking for a response. It seems he’s getting the hint that he’s prying into something I don’t want to talk about.

“W-well, I’d say college is the best place for that,” he says, attempting to save face. “You’ve got plenty of time, dude. Don’t stress it out.”

I silently nod to Emile. Without much else left to say, I back out of his room and return to my own. After a while, I hear not the _clack_ of his drums, but a _twang_ sound that can only be his guitar. As the night drags on, I decide to hit the sack, the sounds of Emile’s guitar playing into the night acting as white noise.

**{~}**

 

The soft, lush grass weaves between my exposed feet, a light coating of dew slipping between my toes. A crisp spring breeze chills my arms. The occasional delicate whiff of a flower makes its way into my nose. I know people and animals are surrounding me, enjoying the public park, though I don’t pay any mind to them. They all blur together in my vision, becoming blotchy patches of nothing. My focus is entirely centered on myself and another figure, both of us sitting barefoot on the grass. The figure next to me is unclear by sight, but I intuitively know it’s someone important. I assume it’s a woman – she has long amber hair blowing in the breeze, and she’s in a sleeveless dress. My heart wells up with happiness as I look at her. She exudes a warm golden glow.

Without a word, she slowly rises to her feet, and walks off, down the bright green hill and to a sidewalk. I blink, and she vanishes. The world becomes empty, despite the movement surrounding me. Without her light, the sky becomes dark. The happiness drops, replaced by dread and loneliness. The lady is gone.

**{~}**

 

**_-Sunday, August 20 st, 2017-_ **

**_-Afternoon-_ **

**_< Vale Central, Room 920>_ **

****

“Emile?” I call, knocking on my roommate’s door. “You ready to go?”

“Chill out a sec,” he calls back. “Getting my pants.”

“Oh my god,” Ally says under her breath, standing behind me.

She had arrived a short while ago so we could all go on the shopping trip Emile had mentioned. He and I came up with a list of things we’d need – the both of us brought some of our own essentials, but we’re still missing some stuff.

Toilet paper, for example.

“Alright, let’s bounce!” Emile proclaims as he swings the door open.

“Took ya long enough,” says Ally.

“Hey, fly’s undone,” Emile tells me.

“What…?!” I immediately turn away from Ally and grab the crotch of my pants, tugging at a zipper that’s already pulled up. Once I realize I’ve been duped, I glare at Emile so hard I could cut through him.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe that worked!” he cackles.

Ally laughs to herself as we shut the door behind us.

 

**{~}**

Boarding Emile’s car, we end up further into the downtown area at a supermarket named Arrow. It may as well be a small mall – it sports two floors and every department a supermarket could possibly have is split between them. Advertisements cover every square inch of the place like a bad rash, and the bright red motif sears my corneas. The walls are red, the logos are red, the signs are red; dear god, _everything is red_.

I offer to push the cherry red shopping cart while Emile and Ally walk beside me. Emile and I have agreed to split the cost of the things we’re going to need for our own room, while Ally has her own list to go by. I run my dorm decoration ideas by Ally – posters, a desk lamp, some minor stuff – and she listens intently.

“You definitely need the little things,” Ally says. She puts her thumb to her chest like a proud superhero. “But leave the fun stuff to me! I’ve got some ideas.”

We poke into every section of the store, grabbing at least one thing from every other aisle. During the whole trip, Ally pauses at nearly every endcap, continuously falling for their advertisement tricks.

“This is so _cute_!” Ally pleads.

“It’s a metal sculpture of a palm tree,” Emile says dryly. “How badly could you possibly need that?”

Between the three of us, the cart ends up overflowing with general necessities and other less-than-necessary stuff. For Emile and I, we end up with a plastic drawer tower, air freshener, a shower curtain, and a good amount of snacks. Ally took the more sensible approach and picked up school supplies. For my room in particular, Ally showed me a couple things she thought might work and I went along with most of them. I end up with a corkboard to stick to the wall, a bendable desk lamp, string lights to run along the length of my ceiling, a rug, a large fuzzy folding lounge chair – all of them either shades of gray or black.

On the way to the checkout lanes, we pass by the clothing section and a shirt facing the main aisle catches Ally’s eye.

“Oh, my god, I _love_ this top,” she exclaims.

“Oh god,” Emile groans. “You’re not gonna start trying on clothes, are you?”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Ally pleads. “I just…w-why don’t you two go over to the games and look around for a minute?”

Emile sighs. Loudly. Ally takes this as Emile accepting defeat and snatches the shirt off the rack, dashing to the fitting room in the center of the department before Emile can retaliate.

“Well,” Emile says with dead, dejected eyes. He throws his hands in his pockets and shuffles towards electronics with his back hunched. “We’ve got a couple hours to kill.”

Back in electronics, the entire wall is lined with rows of TVs, all of them varied in size and manufacturer.

“Have you seen these 4K ones before?” Emile tells me. He motions to the biggest one on the wall, purely awestruck. “Betcha games would look fuckin’ sick on one of these.”

The visual clarity is truly impressive. This particular TV is running a time lapse of a mountainside, the clouds rushing across the skyline at a blistering pace. Every last blade of grass can be seen waving in the wind. The still waters of the lake in the valley are crystal clear, nearly sparkling in the sunlight.

“It’s so sharp,” I agree. “Looks like you could jump right in.”

Walking down the row of TVs, I notice one of them either isn’t plugged in or it’s broken. Either way, it’s a pure black wall with nothing to show, save for my own reflection.

“They know how to promote their shit well, huh?” Emile jokes, noticing the TV as well. He turns down the aisle behind me and begins pulling video game display cases off the shelves to read the backs.

I look back at the TV. My reflection stares back. For some reason, I’m almost entranced by the blank screen.

Very slowly rising in volume, I hear a quiet squealing in the back of my head, followed by a headache. I’m unable to look away from my reflection. It begins to ripple like water. My face waves and changes. As it transforms, the squealing rises and my headache grows in intensity, nearly to the point of dizziness.

“Can I help you guys find anything?” a voice behind me says.

Snapping out of my trance, I turn over my shoulder to find a well-dressed, red-shirted employee behind me. He’s got his hands at his sides with a huge grin on his face. Out of my peripheral vision, I notice Emile and I are the only customers in the department.

“No, we’re fine,” I tell the employee. “Thank you.”

“Lemme know if you need anything,” he says, returning to his desk by the front of the department.

Looking back at the TV, my reflection has gone back to normal. No headache, no sound. Emile is still in another aisle, looking at his games, not noticing anything that transpired.

Ally appears from around the corner, a few shirts draped over her arm.

“Alright, I’m ready guys!” she beams. She’s clearly happy with her picks.

After checking out, I follow the two of them out the store, confused and slightly dazed from my…experience. We pile our stuff into Emile’s car, which is, quite frankly, one hell of a rustbucket. It’s a heavily-used single-row forest green SUV, with the paint slightly chipped, rust accumulating on the underbelly, headrests for the back row missing, and crumbs forever pressed deep into the carpet. Emile assured me before we left that it ‘gets the job done’.

_At least it has working AC._

Ally takes shotgun next to Emile, leaving me in the back row. The seatbelt buckles have seemingly vanished between the seats, making me incredibly nervous about sitting here. As Emile peels out of the parking lot, my hand whips up to the safety handle above the door, squeezing it with a white-knuckle grip.

Ally grabs a cord plugged into Emile’s radio, jamming it into the bottom of her white smartphone.

“What kind of music do you listen to, Tyson?” Ally asks, turning to me from the passenger seat.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” I tell her. “I’ll listen to anything.”

“Have you ever heard of _Cerebral Nostalgia_?”

“No, never,” I tell her.

“What?!” Emile exclaims, looking at me in the rearview mirror. “How have you never even heard of them?”

“They’re my all-time favorite,” Ally says with a wide grin. “Here, I’ll play you some of their best ones.”

For the rest of the ride to the dorm, Ally plays for me a few songs from their discography. Admittedly, I find myself enjoying it a lot. It’s a sort of chill-out rock group, the lyrics being woven in ways that hit hard but keep the rhythm going. I add them to my list of artists in my music app before the first song ends.

As we arrive at the parking deck, Emile picks his spot and we get out to grab the groceries. The bottom half of the trunk door swings open horizontally, while the glass flips upward, opening up to a rather roomy space.

Looking at our haul, Emile’s eyes widen.

“Oh, son of a _bitch_!!” he yells, echoing through the deck.

“What? What’s wrong?” Ally asks.

“We forgot toilet paper!”

Realizing our mistake, I let out a gravely sigh, hanging my head in frustration.

 

**{~}**

The misty, foggy air greets my nose with all too much familiarity. A haze glistens over my eyes as I take in the scents of the city. Skyscrapers reach for the heavens and beyond. Clouds dance around the buildings with beautiful choreography. Cars rush through the streets at a blistering pace, every last impatient citizen begging the universe to let them get to their destination on time. My boots click and crunch against the surface of the sidewalk as I’ve done many times before. My hands rest within the pockets of my slate gray trench coat, winter air grasping at any chance it has to seep into the folds of my clothes.

Countless shops line up along the buildings to my left, their window lights being bright enough to illuminate the other side of the street. Each store is buried under advertisements and neon lights in an attempt to hold my attention long enough for me to consider buying something. Instead, I continue walking, unsure of my destination. The world around me is familiar, though oddly out of place. Loose. As if I’m not supposed to be here.

With a loud rush of wind, a silver sedan blazes past me. The soles of my shoes freeze to the concrete, holding me in place as I look on to the rushing car. Far down the road, where it turns into an intersection, a streetlight changes to red.

However, the one at the wheel of this particular car has no clear indication of obeying this signal. His speed continues, and a sickness churns within the base of my stomach. Mere seconds before the sedan passes the light, another car comes into view from around the corner.

I know what’s coming next.

“Tyson?”

I whip around to the sound calling to me. Instantaneously, the scene has completely changed. Around me are beige walls draped in posters. Sunlight from the window warms the room, and an oscillating fan in the corner attempts to cool down the space as fast as its plastic blades can allow.

The door to my childhood bedroom swings open, and in walks a figure I haven’t seen in years.

“Mom…” I mutter to myself.

“Are you alright?” she says, motherly concern oozing from every word. “I heard you screaming.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” I tell her, slowly taking a step forward.

She’s exactly as I remember her being. The fan blows her hair reaching down to her neck, and despite her age, she radiates beauty and love. The urge to leap into my mother’s warm embrace is overwhelming. I haven’t seen her in…so long…

“Everything’s alright, Tyson,” she coos. “Come here. Everything will be alright.”

“Yeah…” I mumble to myself. “Everything will be…fine…”

Without warning, my head rumbles with pain. I stumble to my knees. Loud screeching sends waves of sickness through my body. My hands grasp my head.

“Tyson, you’re okay…” I hear my mother say. “Just stay here.”

She leans down to me, resting her hand on my shoulder.

_Stay…I’ll stay with her…_

My brain once again rattles from the screeching, this time followed by a distinctly clear and deep male voice.

_~Stop, fool. It is a trick.~_

_What…?!_

_~This is but an illusion. You must leave now.~_

The screeching comes to a sudden stop, and my body ripples with adrenaline. I rush to my feet, surprising my mother and nearly colliding my head with hers.

“Tyson? What’s going on?” she pleads.

I look around my room, realizing something is awfully, horribly wrong. My breathing quickens. I become more alert than I have been in weeks. The posters are clearly distorted, the alarm clock on the desk won’t settle on a time, and the walls seem to churn and wave as if the room itself is breathing. It’s as if my consciousness has snapped back into existence.

Memories come flooding in. How can I be in New York? I’m in North Dakota. I just moved into college. My room hasn’t looked like this in years. This scene has been recurring for countless nights, for months. Maybe years.

I’m dreaming.

“Tyson. Calm down,” my ‘mother’ demands.

_~Escape. With haste.~_

_B-but where do I…?_

To my right, the sun-beamed window immediately stands out. The lock is unhinged. The street far below bustles with excitement.

“Tyson!” the dream mother exclaims, an unexpected anger rising in her voice.

With the quickest reflexes I can possibly muster, I bound onto my desk, working to wrestle the window open. My mad scramble shoves everything off the desk. The clock clatters to the floor. Equally as fast as me, my dream mother leaps forward in a desperate attempt to drag me down. Her hand only manages to grip my ankle as she falls to the ground, though it squeezes tight, pulling and tugging at me.

**_“Get down from there!”_** she screeches, her voice becoming distorted.

My hands hold tight to my desk and the window; I refuse to let go. I scream. I look down at the form of my mom, a sadness welling up within my throat. Staring at her, I see her form melting and shifting into something unrecognizable. My mind forged a fakery, and it’s tearing itself apart.

“I’m sorry…” I whimper.

Swallowing my regret, I kick my heel into her angry, now wrinkled and decrepit face. She reels back in pain, her grip loosening just enough for me to shake my remaining foot free. I force open the window, swinging it out to the city below. My legs scrunch up like a cat’s. With one last move, I spring out into the open air, tumbling to the nothingness below.


	3. Chapter 3

**_-Monday, August 21 st, 2017-_ **

**_-Early morning-_ **

**_< Vale Central, Room 920>_ **

****

_Bzzzzzt… Bzzzzzt…_

Weary eyes slowly open in answer to pestering vibrations. I quite literally roll off the side of my bed, landing on my feet with minimal grace. My phone continues to buzz against my desk, having been there all night charging. With the resentment of an angry teen, I swipe my finger across the screen to close out the alarm.

As if in a zombie-like trance, I force myself through the motions of the morning, getting showered and dressed. My attire for school days tends to remain the same – a white t-shirt, a black hoodie, an unzipped dark gray mechanic jacket layered on top of it, deep gray jeans, and white and gray sneakers. To wrap up my monochrome motif, my charcoal gray crossbody bag is where I keep my treasure trove of textbooks.

My mind remains in a haze all morning as I get ready. The dream from the night before has really done a number on me – I’m sickened by how real it all felt. Never in my life have I experienced a dream that vivid and… _visceral_ before. It’s going to take me all day to recover from that one. And what was up with that voice telling me to escape?

Unfortunately, I must trudge on. School officially starts today.

Emile and I share a math class later in the day, but his first class doesn’t start for another hour after mine, so I get myself out the door as quietly as possible so he can sleep for a while longer. I’d take that advantage myself if I had it. 9AM isn’t the best time for a first class.

Once I’m out the door, it’s a quick elevator ride down to the lobby and out the building before my first walk to class starts. Down a few blocks from my dorm is Arrowleaf Park – a plaque on the edge of the park denotes that it’s named after the white arrow-shaped flowers planted around the field. In the center is a large stone plaza, accented by a massive tiered fountain. Water leaps from its spouts in an elegant aquatic dance. Parents, young children, and dogs dot the park, everyone communally enjoying the post-summer sun.

Another block past the park is where I’ll likely spend most of my time. Through an open gate facing the road and down a flight of stairs is a large outdoor complex surrounded by multiple buildings. Stretching the left of the complex is a gargantuan library, climbing a total of five stories. Across from the library on the right side of the complex is a shorter yet equally massive building made up of classrooms and faculty offices, such as financial aid and registration. A plate on the side of the building labels it as Chayton Hall. Further ahead, past Chayton in the corner of the complex, is the marble-plated Arts Building, where workshops and fine arts classes take place.

Further into the courtyard and up a shallow ramp is another open air space, this one dwarfed by two more buildings - Classroom Center North along the back and Klassen Hall to the right, the latter of which connects the Arts Building and Chayton through interweaving hallways. To the left of North is a bridge extending over the road below, leading over to Classroom Center West and the back entrance of the library. In the middle of this second plaza is a large fountain, adding an ambient sound to the area.

My entire schedule this semester only has classes in North, West, and Klassen, so I’ll likely not have to go to the other classroom buildings that are further out into the city for now.

I was joined the entire walk down to the classroom complex by swarms of other students, all of them mostly minding their own business or chatting with the friends they came with. Some of them were going the same direction as me, while others had taken alternative paths, either around to other entrances or to other classroom buildings entirely.

I opted to mind my own business like everyone else. My mood has already started off at a low for today. I pop earbuds inside my ears to drown out the world – a good time to give _Cerebral Nostalgia_ a proper listen.

Despite being in a crowd, shutting myself out leaves me room to think. My dream’s effects are strongly lingering, the vividness making the world around me quite disorienting. The claws of grogginess continue to rake at me, making me wish I could go back to sleep. I’m normally a morning person, which is why I signed up for 9AM classes in the first place. However, the recent influx of nightmares and the travelling has made getting a proper sleep difficult.

_I’m definitely taking a nap when I get back._

Checking my phone as a reminder, I recall my first class is on the 4th floor of Classroom Center North. Navigating the brick building proves difficult, as it’s absolutely packed with other students. The majority of the crowd seems to gather around the hall to the right that houses eight individual elevators; even with that many, students still have to wait an absurd amount of time to get to where they need to be. I instead take the initiative to climb the stairs.

By the time I reach the 4th floor, my legs make me regret this decision.

I arrive to the correct room a few moments before the class starts, as have other students. A trio of them, presumably friends, are sitting near the front of the class. Popping out one earbud, I manage to overhear their conversation.

“Without anything causing ‘em?” says a confused, bespectacled girl.

“Apparently, yeah,” replies a monotone black-haired boy sitting on the girl’s desk. “That’s what they’re saying on the news, anyway.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” an energetic brunette boy chimes in, sitting in a desk beside them.

“Why do you think everyone is so worried?” asks the girl. “Comas don’t just… _happen_.”

_Oh…I forgot about that…_

“I hope everyone ends up okay,” says the brown-haired boy.

“Doubt it,” responds the black-haired boy. He bends and puts his arms behind his head. “If they can’t figure out the cause, how are they gonna fix it?”

“Goddammit, Trent, why are you always such a buzzkill?” objects the girl.

Before the argument can escalate, the teacher piques up, getting the class started. The Trent kid quickly scrambles into his own desk.

“Good morning, everyone,” she says, getting a courteous response from the class. “I’m Professor Roberts, and we’ll be covering US History this semester. First off, let’s get some ground rules out of the way…”

I pay attention to her spiel as best I can, taking down information in a notebook. However, I’m finding it hard to focus. My mind is going elsewhere entirely. Nevertheless, I power through, feeling somewhat accomplished for staying awake through her lecture to the very end.

 

**{~}**

**_< Lunchtime>_ **

“Dude. You look like shit.”

Emile, Ally, and I decided ahead of time to meet up in the coffee shop inside the library between classes. The two of them came from the same English class, while Emile and I are about to go to math. The shop is surprisingly cozy, especially at the table we picked in the back corner. Wood paneling covers the place, giving it a very laid-back urban feel.

Emile fits right in with the vibe here – his school outfit consists of a black graphic tee with a band’s logo, black jeans and hi-top sneakers, his signature black beanie, and a red plaid button-up tied around his waist. Temporarily hung up on the back of his chair is a red and black cinch bag, weighted down with notebooks.

Ally, meanwhile, has a teal shirt, dark jeans, and brown leather boots rising up her calves. Over her top, she’s wearing a cream cardigan with dark blue diamonds checkered across it. Resting on her forehead are her usual gold-framed sunglasses. Matching gold loops dangle from her earlobes. Ally has a backpack with her as well, though it’s on the floor by her feet and it’s an actual backpack. The white and teal colors go well with her color scheme.

“Yeah, Tyson, you look kind of sick…” Ally concurs with a tone of genuine worry. “You’re really pale. Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m not sick,” I tell them. “But I don’t feel well. I’ve been having trouble sleeping.”

“If being tired is your problem, then you’re in the right place,” Emile says. “Wish our coffees weren’t taking so damn long, though.”

Emile sits up in his seat slightly, looking over the couch in the middle of the shop and attempting to get a glimpse of the baristas.

“Calm down. I’m sure it’s worth the wait,” Ally reassures. “I’ve heard their coffee is the best.”

“It better be,” Emile says, impatiently. “I paid seven bucks for a medium. That’s a rip off if you ask me.”

As the two of them bicker, I notice a TV positioned above us in the corner of the shop. It’s showing a local news network, and they’re conducting some sort of interview. No audio is coming from the television, but the subtitles inform me the lead anchor is, rather unprofessionally, grilling a doctor about being incompetent.

_“Children, families, all torn apart by these random comas,”_ says the lead anchor. _“And you’re telling me the best doctors can’t even find out why they’re happening?”_

Emile catches my gaze and looks up to the TV, as well.

“Oh…that…” he mutters.

“What?” asks Ally. She glances up, too, and notices the segment. She sighs loudly. “I wish they would cover anything else…all of this is really bumming me out.”

“They have to talk about it,” I say with a matter-of-fact tone. “It’s worrying a lot of people.”

“I dunno if it’s helping much,” Emile interjects with a somber tone. “People are still freaking out.”

The three of us continue to stare at the TV. Be it in disgust, curiosity, or worry, we don’t know. The doctor is desperately trying to defend his case, but he knows he’s in a losing battle. He has no information to back himself up. I feel sorry for the guy.

“Emile,” calls out a barista from the counter.

“Aw shit, son!” Emile exclaims happily as he rises from his seat.

He dashes over to the counter excitedly. He waits a while longer for the barista to call our drinks as well, grabbing all three at once and bringing them to the table. Ally got herself a caramel frappuccino, while Emile has a chocolate-flavored dark roast. As for me, I ordered a simple latte – the top of the drink is decorated with a pretty leaf pattern in the milk.

“All right, ladies and gents,” says Emile upon passing out the drinks. “Bottoms up.”

The three of us each take our first sips from our respective drinks, and all of our faces instantaneously light up. Ally was right; the coffee is absolutely phenomenal.

“Hooooly _shit,_ ” says Emile. “Maybe that _is_ worth seven bucks after all…”

“Here, you should try mine,” Ally offers him with vigor.

The two of them test each other’s coffees, enamored with their quality. I’m impressed with my latte, too. The milk’s just the right temperature, and whatever beans they use have got to be the best quality available. From a college coffee shop, this is especially surprising.

“If that coffee doesn’t wake you up,” Emile says, nudging me with his elbow. “Nothing will.”

I smile at his response, quietly savoring the flavor of my drink. Emile and Ally have completely turned their attention from the news broadcast, as if it was never there, but the TV looming over my head nags at me.

I can’t shake the uneasy feeling building in my gut.

 

**{~}**

**_< Afternoon>_ **

Emile was partially right – the caffeine is keeping me awake during our math class, but I’m still in an inattentive daze. As much as I want to focus, I’m having a tough time doing so. To make matters worse, I’ve gotten a seat next to the window, providing the ultimate distraction in the outside world.

“Is _s_ a function of _(t)s_?” asks the teacher partway through the lecture.

Nobody speaks up, so, naturally, Professor Chun decides I’m the best person to call out. “Window kid. What do you think?” he asks.

I wearily look up at the board, attempting to discern the information.

“No,” I decide after a moment of thought. “It fails the vertical line test.”

“Very good,” he says, proceeding to prove my point on the board. “The simplest way to look at this is that _s_ has two identical points on the x axis. Therefore, if you were to connect the points, it would not form a straight line.”

The students around me proceed to write down the material, thankful to get the lecture moving again. Not gonna lie, either; I feel a little smarter after figuring it out with barely any context. In the desk to my right, Emile flashes me the ‘OK’ symbol with his fingers.

As the professor continues on, I hear the wailing of police sirens and my attention moves fully to the window. A couple other students around me bend to look out the window, as well, despite the teacher’s pleas for them to sit back down. In the streets below, a black and white cop car barrels past. The side of the passenger door has an odd dent in it, as if it had gotten hit at some point. As it goes out of sight, two more police cars, their sirens going off as well, follow closely behind. They, too, disappear into the distance, the sound fading away with them.

“What’s going on…?” one student wonders out loud.

“Who knows,” another student corroborates.

“Guys, please, back in your seats,” calls the professor.

I look at Emile with a curious glance. He simply shrugs, going back to the aimless doodles in his math notebook.

**{~}**

 

**_< After School>_ **

Just outside Klassen Hall is a shaded area with planted trees, between Klassen’s entrance and the ramp connecting the two classroom courtyards. Emile and I decide to take a breather on the grass while he kills time for his next class.

“God, I hate math so much,” Emile drags out as he stretches his limbs.

“It’s not that bad,” I tell him. “It’s just learning a process.”

“Oh really, Mr. Genius? Then you’re gonna have to be my tutor this semester,” he says with authority. “Cuz I sure as shit don’t know what’s going on.”

“It’s only the first day,” I inform him dryly.

“And I’m already totally lost, so you just proved my point,” he retorts.

I roll my eyes at Emile’s comment.

_Guess I’m stuck as his math teacher now._

Two gossiping girls catch my attention across the way from the both of us. I can’t tell if they’re trying to be secretive, but they’re talking as if they want someone to hear them.

“They say they held him at gunpoint. They ended up driving off with all of their money!” says the first girl.

“Oh my god, that’s scary!” the second girl says.

“I know, and get this: when the cops got there, they were long gone! Like, _poof!_ Disappeared without a trace!”

“Why are you telling me this?!” the second girl squeals. “You know I get scared easy! Now I’m going to have nightmares, you bitch!”

The first girl laughs to herself, clearly pleased.

“Robbed at gunpoint…?” says Emile, hushed under his breath. “When has that ever happened here?”

“There’s bound to be a criminal or two wandering around in a city this big.”

“Well…I mean, I guess so. I dunno, somethin’ sounds super sketchy about that. You don’t hear about too many crimes around here.”

By this point, the caffeine from the latte I had is started to wear off. I can feel the subsequent crash coming on, and I quickly grow groggy again. In fact, a headache appears suddenly and unexpectedly. I begin rubbing the sides of my head to alleviate the pain. With all these constant headaches, maybe seeing a doctor wouldn’t be a bad idea.

Emile seems to catch wind of this and looks at me with a concerned expression.

“Dude, for real, are you doing alright?” he asks. I swear this is the first time I’ve heard him show genuine worry since I’ve met him. “You’ve been looking like death all day.”

I groan in response. The energy to respond has completely left me.

“Look, Ty,” Emile says. “I got one more class to go to. Why don’t you go back to the dorm and chill out for a bit? We can get food in the cafeteria when I get back. You got a meal plan, right?”

I nod in response.

“Sick,” he replies. “Catch you later, bro. Go get some medicine or something.”

Again, I nod.

Emile stands and walks back up to North, leaving me to head back home on my own.

 

**{~}**

 

On the way back to the dorm, I pass a small convenience store on the corner. Normally, this would be nothing more than an everyday sight, but in the parking lot behind it are three dormant police cars. One of the cars has the same dent in the passenger door I had seen earlier today. A few uniformed cops are standing around the cars, two of them talking to a man in a red polo shirt.

“Sir, we will do everything we can to get your stuff back,” one cop, a man, tells him.

“I sure hope so!” the storeowner snaps back, flustered. “They took everything out of every register and made me open my safe! What am I supposed to do with no money?!”

_Was this the man who got robbed earlier…?_

“Again, we’re sorry for the trouble, sir, but these investigations take time,” says a female cop. “Especially since your security cameras weren’t working today, it’s going to take a while for us to track them down.”

“Just my luck…” the man huffs under his breath. The man storms back into his store, uttering, “Useless bastards.”

One of the cops catches my attention. He’s not uniformed like the others and looks considerably younger. The only indication that he’s not someone they arrested, aside from his not being in the car, is that he has the same equipment strapped to his belt…minus the guns. His arms are crossed and he’s leaning against the side of one of a car, seemingly deep in thought. His messy mop of black hair is moving around in the light breeze, and the fingers sticking out of his black fingerless gloves are lightly tugging at the sleeves of his pale green long-sleeved shirt.

He halts his train of thought for a moment and, without moving his head, looks up and makes eye contact with me. I suddenly realize I’ve been standing around eavesdropping, and the sharp judgmental gaze from this boy snaps me out of my trance.

I quickly look down and away from the situation, subtly increasing my pace in my walk back home.

 

**{~}**

_“Access granted,”_

An electronic gate dings in response to scanning my fingerprint. Some sort of crazy high-tech barrier prevents people who aren’t students from getting into the cafeteria, though they could easily jump over the gate if they really wanted to. Emile follows behind me after scanning his fingerprint, too.

The cafeteria is a lot more spacious and active than I thought it’d be. Apparently, it’s open to anyone with a meal plan, so even students from other dorms can come in. It’s set up in a buffet style, with many different sections each with their own type of food, ranging from a salad bar, a deli, grilled, fried, foreign, and desserts. The specifics of what they serve cycle out from day to day.

After taking some time to wander around, I settle on a burger and fries, while Emile’s grabbed some substandard-looking pizza. We pick out a table further back by the dessert bar, and Ally joins us after a short while.

“Are you feeling any better, Tyson?” Ally asks.

“A little,” I tell her. “Thanks.”

The answer is honest, to an extent. The headache has passed, but the general fog in my mind is still hovering around and weighing me down. I haven’t slept yet; I laid down for a while simply to get the headache to go away.

“Good, I’m glad,” she says with a smile. “How’re your classes?”

“Boring,” Emile interrupts. “English is a chore, math makes no friggin’ sense, and media’s even more boring than English.”

“Well, aren’t you just full of sunshine,” Ally says with dry sarcasm. “What about you, Tyson?”

“They’re fine,” I reply. “History seems interesting and math looks pretty easy.”

“You’re probably going to end up helping Emile with math,” she says sarcastically. “He’s not the brightest.”

“Dude, I’m right here,” he says.

The three of us continue our small talk while eating, commenting about the campus, class, weather, things like that. Eventually, Ally brings up student events and her face lights up.

“Oh, Emile, that reminds me,” she says. “You’re trying out for the charity concert, right?”

“Hell yeah I am!” he says. “The boys and I were practicing for tryouts last week before we moved in.”

“When are they?” Ally asks.

“This Wednesday,” he says.

“Wait, what’s going on?” I ask.

“GU hosts a charity concert at the beginning of every school year,” Ally tells me. “They only get local bands and you have to be a student to try out, but that means it’s a good chance for scouts to find new talent.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Emile says with a smirk. “We’re gonna rock the house down!”

Emile reaches into his pocket and pulls out a shiny silver pick. It’s so clean that I can see my reflection in it as it twinkles. It’s been used, of course, so it’s not without its scratches, but it’s clearly been taken good care of.

“My lucky pick will save the day,” he says triumphantly, presenting the prized possession.

“You still carry that thing around?” Ally inquires.

“You kidding? Of course I do!” he says. “I don’t go anywhere without it.”

Emile kisses the pick before returning it to his pocket.

“You can come watch the tryouts if you want,” he says to me.

“I’ll see if I can make it,” I tell him.

“You better!” he says with a beaming smile. “You’ll get a taste of the best thing that’s ever hit your ears!”

“You sure are confident,” I joke.

“Good, I should be!” Emile replies. “We’re fuckin’ incredible, man!”

My gaze moves to Ally for confirmation. The look on her face doesn’t deny the claim, so I’ll take it for what it’s worth.

“I’m sure you’ll do great,” I tell Emile.

 

**{~}**

**_< Evening>_ **

“So, what’s up with the silver pick?”

Back at our room, I catch Emile coming out of the bathroom, giving us a short while to chat. I’ve taken off all my jackets, leaving me in just a white t-shirt, while he’s put away the flannel he’s had around his waist.

“My lucky pick?” he says. I nod. “It’s my pride and joy, man…aside from my actual guitar, of course. It was the first pick I ever owned. Got it as a gift from my grandpa one birthday. He used to play a lot when he was younger, and he wanted to hand it down to me since he can’t play anymore.”

“What happened?”

“Eh, he ended up with arthritis. He can’t play for more than a few minutes at a time anymore without his hands hurting like hell.”

“That’s too bad.”

“No kidding. I remember when he used to play at family parties when I was _really_ young. We have a few recordings of him playing, but it’s not the same.”

A solemn look falls on his face as he dries his hands.

“I want to make him proud,” he says, more to himself than to me. “He’s why I got into music.”

“I’m sure you will,” I tell him.

After a brief moment of silence, a small smile grows onto my face.

“Hey,” I say to him. “Can you play something?”

He looks at me, clearly confused.

“I haven’t heard you play yet,” I state. “I wanna hear you play something.”

“I mean…sure, I guess.”

The two of us go to his room, and he grabs his electric guitar off his stand. Unsurprisingly, he withdraws his silver pick from his pocket, as well. His amp flicks on with a very slight hum. He barely inches the dial around, keeping the volume at a minimum. He sits down in his desk chair, turned around to the center of the room. I lean against his wall, my elbow resting on one of his many posters.

“It’s past quiet hours,” he says. “But, uh…I think I can do something…”

After some loose notes and readjusting with his guitar, his fingers grip the neck, pushing down on the frets in ways my fingers would never be able to do.

“This one’s for the guy in row one.” He points to me like I’m a crowd of adoring fans.

His sparkling silver pick plucks at individual strings, strumming together a melody that’s shockingly beautiful. When he changes positions on the neck, a high-pitched sliding sound emanates from the guitar. The accuracy of the pick is astonishing; this easily could have taken years of practice to accomplish. The song resembles something of a Mexican ballad, but on an electric guitar, it gives it a bit of a modern spin.

As Emile continues to play, his words earlier crawl their way into the forefront of my thoughts.

_‘I want to make him proud…’_

He genuinely seems to care deeply about performing well. He’s driven. It’s admirable…but at the same time…

_Am I as driven as him? Do I have a goal like that?_

Outside of my control, these thoughts nag at me like a pushy grandmother. They swirl around, taking my mood through several shifts, before I suddenly realize that they’ve completely distracted me from Emile’s playing. I snap myself back into focus, watching him intently as he finishes up the ballad.

“Wow,” I tell him. “That’s amazing.”

“Heh, it’s nothin’,” he says modestly.

“Did you take lessons?”

“I started off self-taught, but I did take a few in middle school. After that, I stopped going to practices and just…played.”

“You’ll have to show me ‘rock star mode’ sometime.”

“Come to the tryouts and you’ll get to see it!” he prods.

With a yawn, I say goodnight to Emile and head to my own room. His lights shut off behind me; he seems to be turning in as well. As I lay in bed, the tune he played loops in my mind. Yet, at the same time, so do the thoughts that were nagging me prior.

_‘I want to make him proud.’_

_Why am I not driven?_

_Should I be…?_

_‘I want to make him proud.’_

_Why does this bother me?_

_Can I make_ her _proud?_


	4. Chapter 4

A high school. A crowd of people. The hallways are narrow, and my elbows don’t have much room. My backpack weighs on me like a sack of bricks. The people around me don’t pay attention to me. I reciprocate this to them. My sole goal is to pass them all by, forgetting them as I go, and hopefully erasing all memory of them when my four years have come and gone. For all intents and purposes, they may as well not exist.

The hallway seemingly goes on forever. The figures around me blur, and not a one of them speak any sense. The sound of their nonsensical voices is all I can hear. Footsteps make no sound and the ambience of the school is simply not there. My stomach drops as I realize a truth in this desolate place – I am lost and alone. Despite this, I continue walking, hoping that maybe a sign will show me where to go. Some sort of signal. Anything.

The crowd of generic shapes and faces part before me, revealing a shining light. The light fades to reveal a figure, glowing in their own golden haze, this one much more clear than the others. It still blurs, much like the rest, but I have an indication of who it is, a stirring deep in my heart that provides a hint to their identity.

The figure looks to me. Its face curls up into a smile; they turn and walk away. As if on command, the crowd gathers again, between the figure and me. Through the cracks in the sea of people, the golden light of the figure shines on, albeit muffled.

My synapses send my legs a single directive: run after them.

I duck and weave through the crowd as best I can, forcing people out of the way. Some easily move, others refuse to budge, forcing me to dart around them like a ballet dancer. I try my best to keep up with the glow, but to no avail. I yell after it, calling it back to me, but no sound comes from my mouth. It disappears into the distance, fading away.

The crowd around me keeps talking, not paying any heed to the glowing figure…or to me, for that matter. Without the light in sight, I fall to my knees, my backpack feeling even heavier than it was moments before. I can’t bring myself to stand.

The scene around me transforms. Figures and faces rush by, as if someone had fast-forwarded a tape. I feel myself change with the scenery. My clothes alter; my bag becomes worn and a touch grimier. When I stand again, I realize I’m slightly closer to the height of the tallest students.

Yanked from the hallways, I am placed in a courtyard within the school walls. I sit alone at a table, the food before me edible…for the most part. The open air rushes into this small space from above, an option for those who want to eat outside. I look up from my tray momentarily to find the light from before at the other end of the courtyard, sitting at another table surrounded by a few faceless figures. I make glances at the golden light every few seconds – only a few times do I suspect they might have caught my staring.

Why I keep looking at them, I’m not sure. Perhaps I’m afraid they’ll vanish if I don’t keep tabs.

A distorted sound of a school bell rings out. In response, every student in the courtyard stands in perfect synchronization, walking towards a double door at one end of the courtyard. The doors at the opposite end swing open as well, and students from within the cafeteria cross through. Between the shoulders, I can see the golden figure is still gathering their things. Whoever this is, they move much more naturally than the rest of the stilted, robotic students.

The rush of courage takes hold of me. Previous reservations and doubts escape my mind, for a moment or two. I stand, straightening up my clothes and running my hand through my hair. Abandoning my tray, I fight through the moving crowd. I struggle among them, most of them larger than me. Ultimately, I’m victorious, and I burst out from the other side. However, as I emerge, one larger student with vile intent trips me as I pass by. Whether this was his plan or not, his actions send my face in a beeline straight for the edge of the table. As I hit it with a loud _thud_ , the golden figure stands, shocked.

My vision blurs as the scenery alters once again. For a moment, all I can see are hazy shapes. A golden light dwarfs them as my eyes strain to open.

When I come to, the first thing I see is the most beautiful sight imaginable. Hovering above my face is a girl. She’s my age. She’s donning a bright, toothy smile full of kindness and life. Her eyes are bright, shining, and inviting. Her shimmering brown hair is pulled to the side, draped over her left shoulder, exposing all of the right side of her face. Her face…it’s clear as day. Everything else before had been unrecognizable and unclear, but this…this moment imprints itself into my memory. A moment I will never forget.

“Oh, thank god,” she says with a breathy sigh. Her voice is clean and clear. Smooth as silk. The most glorious of music. “You’re awake!”

“What-…where am I?” I say as I look around. I’m in the nursing office, a thin sheet of parchment between the bed and me.

“You hit your head really hard,” she says. “You passed out, so I brought you to the nurse.”

She lightly taps my forehead, sending a shock of pain through my system. I wince.

“Oh, sorry! Sorry!” she says, bringing her hands to her mouth. “I didn’t mean-…”

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” I say with a smile.

The two of us share a moment of silence. She soon finds the words to say, a sly grin appearing on her face.

“What…were you doing earlier, anyway?” she says in a jokingly accusatory tone.

“O-oh, I…” A blush spreads across my face. “W-well, I…I was…”

I sigh. She’s caught me entirely off guard.

“I was coming to say hi…”

“That’s one hell of a way to introduce yourself,” she says, still smiling. Her wide grin causes the pain in my forehead to seemingly vanish.

“Well, we’re here now, so clearly, my plan was foolproof,” I say as I sit up in the bench.

She giggles lightly. She looks at me expectantly. I look back, confused.

“Well?” she asks. “You still haven’t told me your name.”

“O-oh,” I say. “My name…”

“You _do_ remember your name, right?” she asks, concerned. “You didn’t hit your head _that_ hard, did you?”

“No, no, I know my name,” I stutter. “It’s Tyson.”

She smiles.

“Tyson…” she says to herself.

“How about you? You remember yours?” I joke.

She laughs. Openly, this time. Her teeth are bright and clean, and her smile lifts my heart to the clouds.

“Dawn,” she says. “My name’s Dawn.”

From this point on, everything becomes a rushing blur of time. Years pass. Some moments are clear and vivid; others rush by without a second thought. They’re just as meaningful. This woman…Dawn…quickly becomes the centerpiece to my memories.

The first time we hung out: a home football game. Our school lost. It didn’t matter. I bought her a pretzel. Her dad picked her up afterwards. He scared me a little.

Time spent between classes. I memorized her locker number: 920. I waited for her some days. She was always delighted to see me.

A track and field day. She fell and sprained her ankle. This time, I took _her_ to the nurse’s office. She hugged me tightly as thanks.

Hanging out with her and her friends. They seemed to like me. I was surprised. I could feel my confidence rise thanks to this new friend group. A sense of self-worth formed.

We didn’t see each other much during the summer. We texted every once in awhile. Hung out at an outdoor mall from time to time. Each time was a treasure in my mind. I hoped she felt the same.

We ended up with a class together our third year. More time spent with her. Daily exchanges. I learned she didn’t have a mom. I didn’t either.

A phone call until 3 in the morning on a school night. She hadn’t been able to sleep. We talked the night away. The next day, she had a pop quiz. She blamed me for failing it.

Her birthday party. She had a marble cake. Her dad was unbelievably kind to me. He would later teach me to build a bike. Her golden retriever was caught drinking from the punch bowl that night.

The high school homecoming dance was exceptionally vivid. She wore a black sequin dress, and her hair was put through an extensive curling process. The two of us went together. I asked her a week prior with flowers. Her favorites – pink roses. Simple, but effective. We spent our first slow dance together. After the dance, we went out for pizza. Under the string of lights hung up outside the shop, I asked her to be my girlfriend. She pecked my cheek.

Our first date. We went to a pumpkin patch and a farm. She pet the goats. One of them started to eat my pants. I couldn’t wear those anymore. Shame. They were nice shorts.

Long talks at fancy restaurants. I treated her every chance I got. She appreciated it, though sometimes she insisted on paying.

She was a writer. Her poems made me emotional. She truly knew how to craft words. She always put down her work, but I brought her up as best I could. I think she grew from it.

An argument. It wasn’t pleasant. I couldn’t recall the topic, only the emotion. We talked it out the day afterwards. She apologized. As did I. We hugged it out.

Christmas. I got her a ring with a pink gem. She got me a record player, but not any records. Only then did she realize the mistake. She was beating herself up about it. I didn’t mind whatsoever. I thought it was cute. I used this player often.

A moment alone at night, staring at the ceiling as I lay in bed. I contemplated. I realized something – I loved her. Everything about her. Her smile, her laugh, her smell, the warmth of her hand, the air she exuded, her kindness. She had a tendency to get emotional over the smallest things. I loved that, too.

Ice skating. She had to hold my hand so I didn’t fall. I did. I took her with me. We laughed off the bruises. That night, in the cold winter air, we shared our first kiss. Her lips were soft. My heart beat out of my chest.

New Year’s Eve. We watched the ball drop at her house. We kissed a minute after midnight. We had to wait until her dad wasn’t looking.

Our first Valentine’s Day. A fancy Italian restaurant that was not at all worth the money. Not our best date. Memorable anyways.

Visits to the local parks in the spring. We loved to go barefoot. The grass was so soft. We often took her dog with us on walks. One park visit, I told her, “I love you.” We kissed.

Junior prom. A hotel ballroom. We danced the night away with our friends. Her dad drove us home. On the way back, she fell asleep on my shoulder in the back seat. I kissed the top of her head.

The end of our junior year. We cheered as we ran out the door together, fingers interlocked. Summer was beginning.

A visit to the beach. Splashing in the water together. For a brief moment, I convince her there’s a shark, which naturally leads to more splashing in retaliation.

More time spent with her friends. They brought alcohol. She chastised them. The both of us left. We saw a movie instead. It was awful. We bashed it for weeks.

Her dog passed. She was heartbroken for quite some time. Tears flowed. I did everything I could to console her. She never truly got past it, but she thanked me for being there for her. I missed him, too.

I surprised her with my first car. A black sedan. We left New York and went driving together. We nearly ran out of gas. I realized how expensive gas could be that day. We parked for a while. We ended up so far out of the city that we could see the stars for once in the night sky, without the light pollution of the insomniac New York City. She began to kiss me…a lot. We would have moments like this every once in a while.

The end of summer and the start of our last year in high school. Frightening. With each other at our sides, we didn’t care.

Applications for schools. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do, but she supported me just the same. She knew where she wanted to go and what to do. I had her back as she had mine.

Another argument, this time initiated by me. I was in an emotional phase and got unnecessarily angry. Seeing her tears was heartbreaking. We took a few days to cool off. I came back to her with flowers and chocolate. “I can’t stay mad at you,” she said, sniffling.

Our first anniversary. We had dinner at the pizza place where I first asked her out. The food wasn’t as good as I remembered it being. She enjoyed the night otherwise. When we got home, my father was elsewhere. The two of us…shared a moment together. One I will _never_ be able to forget.

She ran for student body president. With my newfound confidence, I was able to be her PR manager and get everyone in our graduating class on her side. She won the election in the end. She did a fantastic job. Some say the cafeteria food improved because of her.

She got accepted to her school of choice. She was ecstatic. I was happy for her, too. A twinge of worry gathered. Where would I go?

Christmas once again. She got me clothes. Nice ones. I got her a bracelet with swappable charms. She nearly cried at how pretty it was. We spent another special night together.

All these memories rush by in the blink of an eye, each one carrying their own substantial weight with them. I treasure each moment I have with Dawn, as much as I possibly can. Every time she has to leave, sadness wrenches my heart. Every moment spent with her is a blessing that I try my damnedest to not take for granted. My mind looping through these emotions sends me spiraling.

I think it’s because I know what’s coming.

New Year’s Eve. Or, New Year’s Day, at this point. We went to a party that night with other kids from our class. Some were drinking, though Dawn and I chose not to. Neither of us ever had a care to, though I had my own reasons for it.

I’m looking forward at the road, driving through the snowy streets of New York. There’s a light snowfall around us, and the sidewalks are caked in ice and lined with plowed snow. The shops along the side illuminate the road, brighter than the streetlights. Dawn’s in the passenger seat, her hand in mine. I tenderly rub my thumb against the side of her closed hand. The two of us smile, having enjoyed a fun night together. Coming up at the intersection, the light is green. I take a brief moment to look away from the road and at her, smiling. She looks back at me. She smiles.

“I love you, Tyson.”

“I love you, too.”

My heart contorts as I solemnly realize the truth.

I’m dreaming…again.

This dream…this… _nightmare_ …has been recurring for months. Almost weekly. They haven’t shown any signs of stopping. This memory haunts me every waking hour of the day, and even on into sleep.

I smile at my mind’s memory of Dawn. She smiles back. I tenderly squeeze her hand. A tear goes down my face.

As I pass into the intersection, the bright headlights of a speeding silver sedan appear out of the corner of my eye, behind Dawn’s head in the window. It rushes closer.

Too fast to react.

The car makes impact with ours, sending it flipping and careening off into the intersection. Other cars swerve as best as they possibly can to avoid the collateral damage. Not all of them can escape in time. The shredding of metal and smashing of glass rocks the world. The pain is all too real. After all, I’ve felt it before.

In a haze, my eyes slowly open to see the concrete below me. I’ve landed outside the car. Perhaps I’ve crawled away from the wreckage. I’ve never been sure. My leg is broken in at least two places. Ribs are cracked. Somehow, my phone has landed not a foot in front of me, unscathed. My belongings and my bones are the least of my worries.

I look behind me with tears and blood in my eyes. The mangled image of my car lies in the middle of the street, flipped entirely upside down. The passenger window has been utterly obliterated. Inside is a figure, her seatbelt keeping her in the chair, suspended and dangling.

The golden light has been snuffed out on impact.

Tears well from my eyes as I cry into the road. Whether this is a part of my memory or my reaction to reliving it, I’m unsure. Whatever the case may be, I have never felt a greater sadness than at this very moment.

**_“And it’s your fault…isn’t it?”_ **

_Wh-what?!_

I look up. No matter how many times I’ve had this dream, I have yet to hear this voice. It drips with malice.

To my astonishment, the door to the silver sedan across the intersection opens. The car is tipped on its side. Out of the driver’s side flops a dark figure. He stumbles out of the car, smashing onto the ground. His bones are clearly mangled and broken, yet he somehow manages to stand. His eyes glow a feverish yellow color.

I remain silent as I watch in horror. The man. The man who hit us. The man who died on impact, just as she did.

This hellish nightmare brought him to life.

He walks towards me as best he can. One leg works, while the other drags behind him, twisted at an impossible angle. One arm worthlessly dangles by his side. The top of his head is bashed open, and blood is pouring down his face. His body weaves and bends in a drunken stupor. He’s beyond inebriated.

“What…what’s…no…” I mumble.

**_“This is all your fault,”_** the man repeats. He voice is deep. Demonic.

“N-no…” I say. “How…how dare you-…”

**_“At least, that’s what they think,”_** he says in a mocking tone. **_“Of course it’s my fault. I was the one that hit you. A giant metal bullet going a grand total of 97 miles per hour, killing me and your little girlfriend on the spot. That’s what they told you after it was all said and done. But facts like that don’t matter at all…do they?”_**

“Stop it…” I squeak out.

**_“You were the one driving. You weren’t watching the road. So you’re the reason she’s dead. Plain and simple. And you know it. Your friends. The school. Her dad. And_ ** **you. _You know it was your fault.”_**

More tears well up, alongside every negative emotion known to man. The world around me spins.

**_“And you know what’s crazy?”_** the man…the _killer_ …continues. **_“We even tried to save you. All the death in your life follows you everywhere you go, and we give you a world where all of that pain and sadness is gone.”_**

_What is he talking about…?!_

**_“And what do you do?!”_** the killer screams. **_“You deny it! You run away. Just like you always do. You pick up your feet and bolt, like the utter, pathetic coward you are. Every problem you’ve ever faced, you’ve ran from it. Instead of facing reality, you packed up and went as far away from home as you possibly could, cutting your ties with no regard for anyone else!”_**

I suddenly recall the dream I had a few nights ago – the one where I escaped from the ‘mother’ who tried to attack me.

“That…that was a dream,” I force out. “It was all a lie…”

**_“What’s wrong with that?”_** he retaliates. **_“If you’re given all you could ever want and more, then who cares if it’s a lie?!”_** He scoffs. **_“Well...apparently you do. You spit in the face of our generosity. We gave you the perfect escape from the shit life you have, the escape you so desperately begged for. An escape from the husk of a person you are now, and you threw it in the fucking garbage.”_**

By this point, the man has managed to drag his mangled body over to me. He reaches down with his one good arm, grabs me by the throat, and lifts me off the ground with impossible strength. Every broken bone cries out in pain. I scream.

**_“So you know what?”_** he says. **_“If you want pain so damn bad, then we’ll give you pain.”_**

The killer drops me to the ground with a _thud._ The world around me moves. The wreckage of the cars caught in the wake of the crash slowly flip back over, playing in reverse. The glass of the windows and the broken metal rejoins itself. To my absolute horror, I feel my gravity shifting towards it. Despite my dazed state, I know exactly what he’s doing.

He’s making me live it again.

“No!!” I scream out to the sky, muffled by the environment of a dream. “I’m dreaming! I know I’m dreaming! Wake up!! Th-this isn’t real…this isn’t happening…please, stop…”

Tears stream down my face. The drops of water drip off my chin, falling to the skid-stained concrete. Between the murky blinks, I see my phone in front of me, the dead screen mocking me. As I see my reflection, a twisted contorted face that is not my own looks back at me.

Then comes the screeching.

More intensely than it ever was before – in the plane, at the dorm, at the store, in the courtyard – the ringing calls out within my head, racking my body with absolute pain. My hands go to the side of my head, and I scream out in pure anguish.

_~Look upon thine own image.~_

_What the hell?!_

A voice is calling out within my mind, clear and deep. It’s same voice I had heard within the dream with my mom, though this time, it’s as if he’s right beside me. Somehow, I manage to stand, stumbling in pain. Despite being in a dream, my heart beats intensely. I am unable to look away from the blank screen.

Out of my line of sight, a glowing blue butterfly hovers overhead, dropping iridescent sparkles in its wake. It flutters a moment before continuing on its way.

_~You remain trapped in your emotions. The past clings to you like a plague. The manipulations use this weakness against you.~_

_I…I don’t…_

_~Death has followed you at every turn. Even in the light, despair nips at your heel like a dog. The ball and chain that is your loss drags beneath you, tearing apart the tender soil you tread. You wear your strife as a mask, closing yourself off from those who wish to grow close to you. You are unable to face reality, for you are trapped within a cycle of torment. Its creation is your own doing…is that correct?~_

Tears continue to stream down my face, in sadness, anger, and in pain. Tears drop onto the screen of my phone. On the first drop, it ignites. A blue flame streaks across the surface of the phone, lighting it up in a sky blue hue like a lit stream of gasoline.

_~The power to press onward, despite your great loss, against the spiral of despair…you have what it takes to fight on. Deep within your soul, you have the strength to stand strong, and face the hurricane of emotion. Do you wish to ignite this power? Will you allow it to well up from within? Or shall you accept the falsehoods being presented to you? Do you wish to continue running from the task at hand?~_

A burning sensation rises in my heart. Now, allowed to break line of sight with my reflection, I look upon Dawn’s tangled form in my decimated car. My gaze shifts to the killer before me. The man who took everything from me, ruined my life, and killed the one person I loved more than anyone else. He drunkenly wobbles as the wreckage of cars hovers above the ground, reforming and taking new shapes. A maniacal laugh echoes from his disgusting, mangled maw.

I hate him.

“No…” I say between shallow breaths.

In my mind, Dawn’s shining face smiles down on me in the nurse’s office. The moment I met her. Memories flash of everyone I met because of her. The moments shared between the two of us. Against all odds, against the hurt of her untimely fate, those memories have cemented themselves as happy ones.

_Would she be proud of who I’ve become?_

“No…I’m done. I’m done running.”

_~I see…in that case, may I propose a bond be forged...~_

The headache pulses once again, causing me to lurch forward in pain. I scream out. The voice continues on, booming in my head, raising its voice to a yell.

_~May thy will to face hardships take corporeal form. May thy heart ascertain the courage to stand up to the terrors of the night!~_

_“Aaaaaaugh!!”_ I belt out. My phone on the ground below me crackles with a fiery energy, having become entirely submerged in blue flame. An electric sound pulses out from the burning brick. Only now does the killer take notice of what is transpiring.

_~I am thou. Thou art I. Call upon my power from within thy heart, and break thy mind free of thine own captivity!!~_

_“GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!”_

My foot rises and slams down onto my phone. An explosion of blue flames and glass force themselves out from underneath my foot. There’s a moment of calm.

That’s when the cracks start.

I look on in horror as my body, frozen in place, becomes covered in cracks, starting from my foot and leading upwards. From within the cracks, a cyan light emanates. The cracks continue to rise, and my breath quickens. They reach my waist, spread to my other leg, and race up my chest. They expand out across my arms, up my face, down to my fingers. My body wrenches and my limbs bend as pieces of myself pop out of place. Light and flame shoot out from my open cracks.

In one final scream of anguish, my entire body shatters to glass, unleashing a torrent of cyan flames from within.

When my eyes open, I’m on one knee, one hand to the ground. My body is no longer mangled from the crash, and my form is that of how I was during my waking hours at school, jackets and all. It’s as if I have shed a skin, revealing a new form below. Shards of flying broken glass circle me alongside the rising walls of blue flame, twirling and dancing around me. The cracks are still present, though they only go from my forearms and calves outward. I rise with a resolve I haven’t had for months.

I stand, stance wide. I am fully aware of the figure that now hovers above me.

A gargantuan man, glowing with the cyan power coming from my heart, stands tall above me. His muscles ripple with power, his exposed torso covered in black markings resembling connected constellations. These markings continue all the way to the ends of his toes and the tips of his fingers. A beige buckskin layered dress, decorated with Native American markings and art, droops down from his waist. On the right side of his belt is a small black sack pulled shut, a white light exuding from tiny opening at the top. His head is covered in another black buckskin sack, tied tight at the neck, white charcoal markings resembling other constellations etched across his face. A white crescent moon is drawn on the forehead. A blue- and green-feathered headdress surrounds the back of this mask, fanning out like a lizard’s neck. In his right hand, he holds a long spear. Wooden totem wings fan out just below the spear’s tip, and blue and green feathers stick out from the opposite end.

The killer looks on at this sight, his striking amber eyes expanding in fear. He slowly makes his way backwards, shuffling along in a desperate attempt to escape. He’s utterly terrified.

He should be.

_~I am Bégo-Zhíni, The Black God, Caster of the Stars. If you so wish it, my power is yours to illuminate the darkness that lies within thine own mind.~_

“Let’s get this over with,” I say with a deep grovel. My throat wells up…with sadness? Or is it resolve? “I’m sick of this goddamned nightmare.”

_~Ah, you may make a fine vessel yet. In that case, let us then vanquish the evils thine own mind has crafted!~_

**_“What the hell are you?!”_** the killer yells out. **_“How…how is this possible?! You’ll pay for this!”_**

The cars floating through the air violently change direction. They fly inward towards the killer, smashing into each other with intense force. The killer melts into a disgusting black sludge and wraps himself around the mangled metal, bringing the wreckage together like glue. In a pulsing of unholy power, the killer has transmogrified into a wretched titan comprised of broken steel and glass, oil and blood dripping from every crevice. A multitude of headlights make up his eyes, casting beams of light outward into the street. They dart around asymmetrically and frantically like a bug, bright as spotlights. The monster slams its giant arms comprised of packed concrete and crushed cars against the ground. The earth shakes and cracks underneath it. Sparks fly out from its form in all directions as it moves. Its midsection disappears into a black void in the ground. The intersection has warped - the ground now curves in newfound ways. The buildings rise higher and buckle at their midsections. The neon signs of the stores are no longer recognizable and instead bend and stretch across the scene.

An utterly twisted voice calls out from within the mashed behemoth, even further corrupted than the voice’s prior form.

**_“Your dreams belong to us! Fighting back is a waste of your time! You have no control, you pathetic piece of shit!”_ **

“Shut the hell up already!” I yell back. “I’m done dealing with you. I’m done running!!”

**_“’Done running’, huh? Fine then! Stand still and die like the maggot you are! You’re of no worth to us if you won’t submit! You’re no worth to_ ** **anyone _!”_**

Car doors on the monster’s form open up, and three piles of black sludge pour out. They slosh across the ground, coming between the titan and me. From the sludge bursts forth three identical figures, each of them resembling bizarre green imps poking their heads out from within floating jars adorned with religious stars.

_~Let your newfound resolve form the edge to your words. Strike with a swiftness befitting of a warrior!~_

I hold my right arm out to my side. In a column of deep blue fire bursting from my palm, a thin, wooden, yet durable spear with a silver tip appears. I elegantly twirl the spear in my hand before gripping it with both hands in a ready stance. I rush at the creature on the right, stabbing outward at its center over and over again. I press my non-dominant foot into the ground and step forward, stabbing outward one more time with a yell. The strikes deal enough damage to cause the imp to dissolve into a black and red spray. It screams out in a high-pitched distorted wail as it turns to dust.

_~The hearts of the enemy are weak, but yours is strong. Do not falter, and stand firm in the face of danger! May your determination form a wall, protecting you from the evils of the world!~_

Another jar creature advances upon me, trying to ram its body into mine. I hold my spear diagonally in a makeshift attempt at defense, and sure enough, the attack hits me with minimal repercussions. I merely feel pushed backward, as if there truly was a wall between the enemy and me.

_~Thy will be strengthened; my power is yours. Command me as you see fit!~_

“Destroy them!!” I shout with my spear pointed at the monsters before me.

Bégo-Zhíni twirls his own gargantuan spear above his head before holding it primed at his side. With a powerful lunge forward through the air, the spear strikes the jar that dared to hurt me moments before. The sharp tip of the staff breaks through the creature’s form, piercing and destroying it.

As Bégo-Zhíni stands down from the strike, he vanishes in a flash. As he does so, the cracks on my limbs vanish and the flames subside, leaving one more jar creature standing between me and the amalgamation of vehicles.

_~The two of us are one and the same. At the depths of your soul is where I reside. I may be called forth whenever you may need of me. Unleash me, and purge thy mind!~_

With a rush of power and flame, my phone appears in my left hand, burning with an intense cyan fire. Its form is clear and crystalline. The screen, once blank, is now filled with a full-body profile of Bégo-Zhíni, standing strong. The number zero is transcribed on opposite corners of this image.

I hold the phone from the bottom and alter my grip’s center of gravity. I give the phone a light toss, causing it to flip repeatedly in midair. As if in slow motion, I draw my arm close to my chest as I wait for the right moment. My hand balls up in a fist, closing tight.

As the screen lines up with my line of sight mid-flip, it is once again blank and perfectly reflective. The face I see is my own. Powerful. Angry. Determined.

_“PERSONA!!”_

My arm whips out, the back of my hand smashing against the reflection. With intense force, my knuckles obliterate the phone entirely, smashing it like a pane of glass. The blue cracks once again form on my lower legs and forearms as Bégo-Zhíni reforms above me in a column of flame and glass.

I stand strong with my arm outstretched, burning blue coals enveloping me and scorching the earth. My eyes glow with a blue power.

The power of my Persona.

Bégo-Zhíni reaches inside the black sack at his waist, withdrawing a source of light. He then holds his hand out to the last remaining jar monster, casting a burst of bright white light to ensnare the creature. The blast kills it off, unable to take whatever power the attack held.

This incredible power is now broken free from within me. It courses through my veins and my very soul. It makes me feel strong. In control.

**_“You think you can get out of this alive?!”_** the vehicular abomination cries. **_“You’re a bigger moron than I thought. We’re going to crush you, just like her!!”_**

The monster raises its fist in the air. Before I can defend myself, it strikes the ground, the shockwave sending me flying backwards. I skid across the concrete. Normally, this sort of thing would damage a human beyond fighting back, but, somehow, I stand.

I force upright, unwilling to stand down. I once again flip my phone and smash it with a backhand strike, summoning forth Bégo-Zhíni to attack the behemoth. The Black God twirls his spear before rushing in midair at the monster, shoving his weapon dead center into the creature’s body. The strike manages to damage some of the headlights, as well, sending glass everywhere.

**_“Augh!!”_** the demon screams out. **_“You…you pest! That hurts!!”_**

“It better hurt, you bastard!” I yell out.

I command Bégo-Zhíni to strike at the monster once again, this time swiping at the black goop that holds the amalgamation together. It leaves a mark and cuts it open, the wound squirting out red and black blood. However, the monster has a leg up: all of its headlights, previously unable to focus, suddenly aim all in one direction. The bright lights cut through my Persona, causing it to disappear, leaving nothing to block out the flash aimed at me. The effect is blinding, effectively making me a deer in the street.

With the sound of tires screeching and horns honking, an arm of the titan reels back and slams into me, once again sending me flying through the air. The bright light left me rendered utterly hopeless.

Underneath the intense pain, I still manage to stand up. I twirl my spear and stab it into the ground, using it to prop myself up. The eyes of the monster return to their frantic nature.

“Looks like we had the right idea with destroying the headlights,” I say to myself, and to Bégo-Zhíni.

**_“Why won’t you just die already?!”_** the monster screams. **_“Why do you keep standing back up?! You’re nothing more than worthless trash with nothing left to live for!! Stay down, goddammit!”_**

My phone materializes within my hand again, burning with its intense blue fire. As the monster spews its words, I catch a glimpse of the front window of a car used in the pileup: my own car. Inside the window is the mangled body that haunts me every day. The sight of her…Dawn…lifeless.

“Nothing left to live for…?” I say to myself.

A burning sensation rises within my chest.

“Nothing left to live for?! You’re goddamn _right_ I have nothing left to live for!”

The floor beneath my feet warps, the texture of the concrete twisting and tightening. My heart rate increases to a violently uneven pace, and hot blood rushes through my veins.

“She was everything to me! My reason to keep living! And you took her from me! I didn’t even get the chance to see you suffer for what you did!”

The phone within my hand is slowly enveloped in a new color, going from a harsher purple and fading into a deep, dark, crimson. The flames are now of a chunkier, more sinister substance.

“I’m done running away from what I’ve done and what’s been done to me. But as long as I have you here, in _my own mind,_ you’re _my_ toy. This isn’t your world. It’s mine!”

My hand crushes my phone in a tightened fist, the smashing replaced with a splurging, as if the phone were made of a dark red mud, oozing and leaking between my clenched fingers. The cracks on my limbs reappear, this time in a red hue. Thick crimson flames envelop me, thicker than the flames before, almost like gaseous blood. Inhibition has gone completely out the window. I can no longer control the spiral of anger I have found myself within. My voice has gone to a cold snarl.

“I’m going to get my revenge. And I’m going to enjoy every second of it, you son of a bitch.”

Bégo-Zhíni materializes above me. However, once present, the two of us lurch over in intense pain in near synchronization. Both of our spears clatter to the ground. My hands clutch the sides of my head. The Black God grasps at his neck, as if the rope on his sack mask has tightened. The bag at his waist ignites in flames, traveling across the charcoal markings on his body and setting him ablaze. The scorching spreads across his body, replacing the constellations with horribly disfigured scars and burning away at his dress. Bégo-Zhíni hunches over, his spine cracking. Bursting forth from his back in a splurge of blood are six asymmetrical spikes, glowing with a veiny red power. His forearms and lower legs begin to pulse, becoming covered in red glass-like cracks. The cracks then burst with a fountain of blood, revealing dark black talons and claws beneath. Each limb now sports three spiked fingers, the ‘pointer’ stretching far longer than the rest. His knees forcefully snap backwards, transforming his legs into a feral, dog-like stance. The colorful feathers on his headdress now change to a sickening violet color, as if they have been poisoned. The front of his mask begins to suck inwards haphazardly, as if he’s suffocating inside. However, it goes further than that – the entire face of the mask convulses, caving in farther than it should, until it suddenly breaks open with a heavy pouring of blood, sucking the front of his own face into a black hole behind the mask. This disgusting gaping hole is lined with razor sharp teeth. The form of Bégo-Zhíni is now an absolute nightmare, a disgusting atrocity that can only scream out in carnivorous, monstrous hunger and agony.

**_“What the hell?!”_** exclaims the titan.

Bégo-Zhíni roars with ferocity, blood oozing from the hole in its face. I scream out, too, though in severe pain. My eyes are a deep bloodshot red, and the otherwise harmless cracks on my forearms are seeping blood.

_“Eviscerate him!!”_ I call to my Persona.

Without a second thought, the hunger in Bégo-Zhíni overtakes him. I can feel it within myself. He rushes through the air at the titan, clawing at its form with its outstretched, disgusting claws, like a zombie tearing at flesh. He rips chunks of metal apart, and smashes the headlights of the titan in the process. His claws move in a vengeful fury, creating deep gashes all across the monster.

The titan cries out in distress. There is no one to save him. No one deserves to save him.

My corrupted Persona tears apart enough of the metal to reveal a beating heart underneath, pulsating with a red glow. The killer resides inside, a deep terror within his glowing amber eyes. With his sharp claws, Bégo-Zhíni pierces the heart. He yanks out the killer, who struggles to escape the grasp of my Persona. With its core removed, the pieces of the titan all fall apart, disintegrating into a black sludge. Metal and blood fall to the floor with a thunderous quake.

**_“No! Ugh…goddammit! This wasn’t what was supposed to happen! Let go of me, you fu-”_ **

Before the killer can even finish his statement, the teeth within Bégo-Zhíni’s hole begin to spin loudly like an electric pencil sharpener. He violently forces the helpless killer into his gaping mouth headfirst with a ravenous roar, grinding him into a pulp inside his open face. The limbs of the killer spin around lifelessly. Blood and black guts spray in every given direction. One leg disconnects from the tornado of dark flesh, landing in front of me. In a fit of rage, I stomp on the leg, causing it to burst into a spray of dark sludge. The body of the killer is now devoured entirely into my Persona’s mouth. Bégo-Zhíni reels back and screams to the sky in utter turmoil.

Much like static on a TV or a glitch in a game, the world fizzes and shifts, abruptly altering drastically. Before my eyes, Bégo-Zhíni snaps back into his original chief-like form, the pale blue glow familiar and calming. My own glow has faded back to blue, the anger and unbridled hatred beginning to subside. Overwhelmed, I fall to my knees. The sound of ambulance sirens can be heard in the distance, my nightmare falling back on its original pattern. I fall forward, my weary face making contact with the smooth, icy concrete below.

 

**{~}**

_“AAAAUGH!!”_

I suddenly sit up straight in my bed. I am utterly drenched in sweat. My breathing is shallow and rushed. I feverishly kick off my sheets and run my hands through my matted hair.

“What the hell…” I say to myself. “What the _hell_?!”

It takes me a moment to recollect everything that had transpired. It was all so utterly vivid. The dreams, the memories with Dawn, her smiling face, the crash, her killer coming to life…

My Persona.

Then, there was my reaction. That _thing_ …Bégo-Zhíni. He had taken on the form of a monster…was that my fault? Images of the nightmare and Dawn rush by, side by side, sending a wave of regret and sickness down to my stomach.

_Did I make her proud…?_

I don’t think I did.


	5. Chapter 5

**_-Unknown day-_ **

**_-Unknown time-_ **

**_< Mysterious Lab>_ **

Within the dark laboratory, a lone man at a desk stares, rather nonchalantly, at an array of colored screens shining down on him. His elbow is propped up on the messy and cluttered desk, his palm supporting his head against his cheek. The fingers of his other hand drum the table. His eyes are heavy, and his facial hair has devolved into a scruff. He lets out a sigh brimming with boredom beyond comprehension. He’s been here for quite some time, if the empty bottles and tipped ramen cups strewn across the workspace mean anything.

“We’ve gotta watch the kid,” he mumbles to himself in a mocking tone. “We’ve gotta keep an eye out, we’re doomed if we don’t, yadda yadda yadda…”

He leans back in his chair and loudly groans.

“Not like any of this matters,” he mumbles to himself dejectedly. He scoffs. “We’re completely wasting our time over some lousy college brat.”

Without warning, a light begins blinking rapidly on a screen. Charts and graphs go haywire, spiking up and illuminating the room with a new set of colors. The man sits up in his chair in response to the electronic dings coming from the monitors.

“What in the hell…” he says with a cock of the eyebrow.

It takes the man a moment to realize what’s happening. Whatever it is he’s been tasked with, it’s finally shown results. His eyes widen, and he stands up out of his chair. In a mad frenzy, he tosses papers and plastic husks aside to find a device on the desk underneath the miserable heap. Once he finds a small red button, he pushes it to activate a microphone.

“S-Sir! Sir! Come in!”

After a short while, a tired voice comes back to him on the speaker.

_“What is it, Rick?”_

“I-It’s him!” he stutters back. “I don’t believe it; you were right, it _was_ him! You have to come in here, quick!”

No response from the other end of the line. The man at the desk waits a moment before attempting to call for him again.

“Sir, seriously, you’re going to want to-”

The door to the dark room suddenly flies open, and in stumbles the businessman from the night before. He looks up at the monitors, and his expression glows. He scrunches up before throwing his fists into the air in a raw expression of excitement.

“Yes!! I knew it!!” The man releases a rare laugh, one forged of hope and success. “We found him, Rick! We did it!”

“Now what do we do?!” Rick says back to the man. “Do we contact him?”

“No, not yet,” the man says, stumbling around in an excited daze. “We watch him. Just a while longer. Monitor him. We have to keep an eye on him. From a distance, of course. He can’t know we’re watching. Not yet.”

Rick’s face sinks once he realizes he’s about to be tasked with the exact same thing again. All the excitement drains from his face, replaced with the same exasperated expression as mere moments prior.

“Son of a bitch…” he says under his breath.

 

**{~}**

**_-Tuesday, August 22 nd, 2017-_ **

**_-Early Morning-_ **

**_< Vale Central, Room 920>_ **

Just as the morning before, my phone’s alarm forces me to get out of bed. I must have fallen asleep again last night at some point. It sure wasn’t by choice. Sleeping is the last thing I wanted to do after going through all of that.

The events of my subconscious force themselves through my head repeatedly, committing them to memory. I’ve had similar nightmares before, but none that have taken a turn that drastic.

Standing in the shower allows me the perfect span of time to quietly reflect. Mental images of Dawn click by like a slideshow. My chest tightens further with each click.

The cloth in my hand, thick and lathered with a blue soap, runs over the pink scar to the right of my sternum. My gaze freezes on it. All of the pain – both mental and physical - rushes back in a panic. It remains a permanent symbol of the mistakes that I have never been able to escape no matter how hard I’ve tried. The scar will forever mark the beautiful rise and the horrific fall of the best years of my life. Tears well up behind my closed eyes as I cover the scar with the washcloth, unable to look at it any longer.

Everything I loved. Everything I cared for. Gone.

_And it’s all my fault._

It’s then that I recall what had happened at the tail end of the dream – the strange, unknown power that I had summoned.

_Persona…_

The image of Bégo-Zhíni, for one reason or another, shifts my outlook in an instant. I glance at the covered scar again, hesitantly lifting the cloth. The thoughts that fill my mind now are of an entirely different nature. The scar symbolizes pain, sure…but its existence simultaneously proves that pain can heal itself over time. The mark of loss will never fully disappear, but as time passes, it changes. It lessens. It’s a meager thought that doesn’t uproot the sadness, but the emotional turmoil seems to fade ever so slightly.

The headdress-laden warrior, standing vigilant and proud, feeds a wave of power into my heart. Someone who represents pride, hope, and strength appears to me as someone I should strive to become. As I prepare myself for school, dressing in my usual monochrome double-jacket attire, I catch a fleeting glimpse of my own face in the mirror. It’s hard to explain, but the light behind my dark brown eyes seems…brighter.

I manage a smile.

For my sake…and for Dawn’s…I decide then and there to make my day a good one.

 

**{~}**

While walking to class this morning, I decide to ditch the headphones and pay attention to my surroundings instead. Despite it being the beginning of a school year, the other students are quite energetic. Maybe they genuinely enjoy the college life. Hopefully, I can be just as optimistic about the next day as everyone else.

Ahead of me are two boys talking amongst themselves. I stay quiet so I can partake in one of my newfound favorite activities: eavesdropping.

“Have you heard about the comas?”

“Bruh, of course I ‘ave, ya think I live under a damn rock?”

“You don’t need to be an asshole about it. Anyway, apparently they found another one this morning. Her husband tried to get her up for work and they said she wouldn’t wake up.”

“Shit, dog, that’s scary as hell.”

“Isn’t it? The hospital’s really got their work cut out for ‘em.”

_So the comas are still spreading…what the hell is going on?_

As the two continue their conversation, a girl sprints past us, clearly late to her morning class.

 

**{~}**

**_< Lunchtime>_**

Shortly after my first class, I’ve ended up going back to the library coffee shop. Its addictive atmosphere is sure to keep me coming back most mornings, whether I have the money to afford it or not.

Standing in line for my coffee, I feel a triple tap on my right shoulder. Spinning around, I see a familiar redhead beaming and giggling.

“Hi, Tyson!” Ally says.

“G’morning, Ally,” I reply with a light chuckle.

“Does noon count as morning?”

“Oh god, is it noon already?” I exclaim, looking at the clock behind the counter. I lightly rub my eyes with the base of my palms. “I feel like I just woke up.”

“Did you not sleep well?” she asks.

“Not really, no,” I tell her. “I’ve been having some weird dreams that’ve been keeping me up really late.”

“Oh my gosh, you too?” Ally asks. “I had some _crazy_ ones last night.”

_Wait, what…?_

“What were they about?” I ask her. I highly doubt her dream was anything like mine, but I feel an immediate need to know.

“Okay, so, get this,” she says, raising her hands as if she’s preparing me for what’s to come.

What spills out of her mouth next is a wealth of information set at a blistering pace.

“I was in my high school gym, but it wasn’t really my high school gym, but I knew that it was somehow, y’know? Anyway, I was playing basketball and my dad and my sister were cheering for me in the bleachers, but I haven’t played sports since, like, t-ball in elementary school so that was weird, but then I found out that the team I was playing against had Ryan Reynolds as the team captain, but we were winning and he was getting really angry that his team was losing…”

She continues her ramble and I begin to phase out. I breathe a sigh of relief, further cementing the thought that the dream I had last night was just that – a dream.

As she tells me about her increasingly bizarre dream, she moves her arms and hips around, basically creating a stage play to go along with her story. She bounces and animates in a way that’s entertaining to watch but somewhat tiring to follow. Her striking red hair moves around with each sway and bobs with each hop.

“Anyway, yeah, so it was super weird,” Ally adds after her tale finally rolls to a stop. “What was your dream about?”

“Wh-…uh…” I stammer out. I very quickly force out a lie. “I, uh…don’t remember most of it. It’ll probably come back to me.”

“Well, if anything’s gonna wake you up and get your day started,” Ally says. “It’s gonna be Firefly Café’s fabulous coffee!” Ally quips with a grandiose flair and a sparkling white grin. She spreads her arms wide, gesturing to the shop around us.

“You sound like an infomercial,” I say with a chuckle. “If I make a habit out of coming here, though, I’m gonna go broke.”

“Oh my god, me too,” she says, rubbing the back of her neck. “Maybe I’ll get an on-campus job to feed my coffee addiction.”

“That’s a thing?”

“Coffee addictions?”

“N-no, on-campus jobs.”

“Oh, yeah, they’re really lenient about shifts, too. They know college life can get hectic, so you can sorta come and go whenever you’re able. You should look into one!”

_That’s not a bad idea._

“Maybe,” I say. “It’d probably help paying for textbooks.”

Ally’s eyes suddenly go wide staring directly at me. I can basically hear the glass shattering inside her skull.

“Uh…Ally?” I say, waving my hand in front of her face. “Earth to Ally. You okay?”

“I forgot about textbooks…” she says with deadpan realization. “I’m gonna go broke…”

“Next,” calls the lady behind the counter.

With Ally having totally shut down, I basically have to push her up to the register like a statue.

“Where’s Emile?” I ask after we place our orders.

“He’s got a class at noon,” she tells me. She smiles and jokingly rolls her eyes. “Not like it matters. He’s probably not paying attention anyway.”

“Do you think he’s ready for the band tryouts?”

“I think he is,” she replies. “I _love_ his band. I really think they’ve got a shot at this.”

“What are his band mates like?”

“I don’t know them very well,” she says with a shrug. “They don’t talk to me very much. I mean, I’ve met them, but…they’re all in their own little world or something. One of the guys lives out of town. Emile says it’s hard for them to get together to practice sometimes because of it, especially since everybody’s been busy with school starting up.

“Oh, hey, before I forget again,” Ally pipes up. “Can I get your number real quick?”

_That’s right, I haven’t gotten anyone’s cell numbers yet…_

“Of course,” I reply.

After exchanging numbers and receiving our drinks, Ally and I continue small talk near the door to the coffee shop. A short while later, a couple of girls walk in together, talking between each other.

“It’s got me so freaked out.”

“Don’t be stupid. Some dipshits are probably scamming people for insurance money.”

“What? How could you possibly fake a coma?”

“Don’t ask me, I’m not the one doing it.”

Ally’s face goes soft upon hearing the gossip. She sighs, taking another sip of her iced coffee.

“Hey, I have to get to my next class,” she says to me, strangely quietly. “I’ll catch you later.”

Ally walks off, leaving me by my lonesome. I pick up more of the gossiping girls’ conversation, which at this point has almost turned into an argument.

“How could you say stuff like that?!”

“Because it’s true!”

“You’re awful.”

“What, you believe it just because it’s on the news? You shouldn’t slurp up everything the media feeds you, you know.”

_I should go…_

**{~}**

**_< Afternoon>_ **

Certain teachers seem to be anal about whether or not you can use laptops. Luckily, here in my English class, my professor doesn’t seem to mind. Everyone has theirs out to take notes on introductory material. That is, save for the girl a row in front of me who’s window-shopping for shoes. Meanwhile, Professor Peppers up front has been rambling on about how the class will go.

“I am absolutely ecstatic to watch your skills improve this semester. Even if you dislike writing, I will help you ascertain exactly what it takes to unleash the inner writer within. I doubt you are all as enthusiastic as I am, but, nevertheless…”

A small pop-up appears in the corner of my laptop screen, signaling a received email. Popping it open, the subject line reads: _‘Eagle Alerts: Armed robbery’._

I give the email a once-over. Basically, it’s warning about the convenience store that got robbed yesterday and to be careful on your way around the campus. Makes sense they’d send this out, though I’d expect something this important to have been delivered the night prior.

_I wonder if they’ll catch the guy…?_

**{~}**

**_< After School>_ **

With classes done and over with, I’ve ended up back in my dorm room, killing the time in bed with my laptop. I’ve yet to be given any major homework assignments that are immediately due, but I have a feeling this lax period won’t last long.

_Knock, knock_

“Yeah?” I call out.

Emile cracks the door open and pokes his beanie-wearing head in.

“Yo, dude,” he says. “Recovered from that jet lag yet?”

“Yeah, I’m feeling a lot better today. Thanks.”

“Glad to hear it, man. Hey, you wanna come with me to the drugstore?”

I give him a quizzical glance and lower the lid of my computer.

“Why do you need to go there?”

“We never ended up getting toilet paper,” he says with a shrug. “And I don’t wanna keep going downstairs to the public bathrooms every time I have to drop a deuce.”

“Ew, okay,” I retort, putting my laptop to the side and leaping off my bed. “Let’s go.”

****

**{~}**

Aided through my phone’s navigation app, the two of us track down a drugstore on a street corner across from a second public park past the Arts Building. This park, dubbed Crown Park, rests in the middle of a ring of road, other streets branching out in multiple directions like a compass. Restaurants, stores, a coffee shop, another classroom building, and a multitude of extra school institutions attract much more traffic from students than most of the other areas on campus. Groups of students, some coupled up and others alone, stand at crosswalks until they’re allowed by the rushing traffic to span the street. The “walk” sign is of minimal importance to people more experienced in the city life; if no cars are coming their way, they cross regardless of the sign. Some of these students are garbed with headphones and walk with a purpose, others ride bikes in a leisurely manner, and some sit in the shade of the trees within the park.

Inside the drugstore are two floors, the bottom having general items and the top housing the pharmaceutical and bath supplies.

“Do we get single or two ply?” I ask him.

“Two ply,” he snaps with disdain. “What kind of sick freak buys single?”

As we stand in the checkout lane, a thought occurs to me.

“Oh, hey, lemme get your phone number,” I tell him.

“Holy shit, did we seriously forget to do that?” he says with surprise. He whips his phone out and we exchange info.

“Ally asked for mine earlier today, so it only makes sense to get yours,” I tell him.

“Heh. Sounds like her,” Emile says. “You should’ve seen her during high school. There weren’t a lot of people who weren’t her friend.”

The two of us split the cost of the toilet paper and make our way back out onto the street towards our dorm building. After a brief moment of silence while walking, Emile suddenly speaks up after tapping me on the shoulder with the back of his hand.

“By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask…what do you think of her?”

“Who?”

“Ally. What do you think of her?”

I slow in my tracks in response to his query. He follows suit.

“Um…she’s really cheery and friendly? Why are you asking me?”

Emile chuckles.

“I’m try’na get a gauge on what sorta girls you’re into, man! Gimme a hint or something!”

“I don’t-…” I stammer out, unwilling to answer the question.

Emile rolls his eyes and scoffs. He reaches out his palm, stopping me in my tracks. For a reason unknown to me, he turns and walks back towards the park. He sits down on a small knee-high marble wall near the street edge, and then motions for me to approach alongside him. With a hesitance in my step, I walk up towards his perch, standing behind him.

“Look around,” he says, waving his arms outward.

I follow his instructions, staring out into the scattered crowd of the college students and city folk.

“This is something my grandpa taught me when I was a kid. There are loads of people out here. Every last one of them, you could get to know. But ya won’t. Chances are, you’ll only get to know a handful of people in this crowd, if you’re lucky. There are so many possibilities out here…or anywhere, really. Who knows? One of ‘em could change your life forever. Every last person here could open up a totally different path for you, and all you’ve gotta do is talk to ‘em.”

I stare at Emile for a brief second, taken aback by his passionate spiel.

“What about her?” Emile asks, pointing towards a girl walking past the bus stop across the street.

“Dude, don’t point at people,” I call to him with an urgent tone. I swiftly walk around the marble outcropping to sit down next to him and lower his outstretched arm in a single motion.

“You’re avoiding the question,” Emile prods.

I look over at the dark-skinned girl Emile quite literally pointed out to me. She’s carrying a large black zippered pouch over her shoulder and she’s dressed in a maroon crop top and dark navy capri shorts. Most noticeable, however, is her dyed deep auburn hair.

“The artistic type,” Emile says with the flair of a tour guide. “Creative, thoughtful, yet probably shy and unlikely to approach you. Get to know them and they’ll be your best friend through thick and thin.”

I stay silent through Emile’s rhetoric, choosing instead to give him an empty stare.

“Okay, okay,” he says. “How about her?”

Emile this time makes motions towards a different girl with his head rather than an accusatory finger.

I make an audible sigh and look over to where Emile directs me. This girl is much taller than the last one and sports suntanned skin and long blonde hair. Her build comes across as very athletic.

“The sporty type,” Emile says, once again with the absurd twist to his voice. “Dedicated to their craft like nobody’s business. Focuses on staying fit and has a tight bond with her fellow teammates and tends to enjoy beach-related vacations. They’re usually pretty stressed due to high workloads.” Emile leans in to me slightly and talks between his teeth. “And in the fall, they’re fucking suckers for pumpkin spice lattes.”

Emile perks up and motions toward a different girl, this one standing talking to her friends by a crosswalk.

“Ooh oh oh! What about her?” he stammers out.

The girl he points out this time seems to be Hispanic. She’s dressed up in a long cardigan over her sleeveless top. The sleeves of the cardigan drape just a bit too far past her wrists, but it looks comfortable nonetheless. Long dark hair spills out underneath a wool beanie and a small silver stud is placed on the ride side of her nose.

“The hipster,” he says. “Super laid back and incredibly chill. Perfect date for ‘em would be sitting back and listening to their vinyl records and taking polaroid pictures with off-kilter framing. Probably vegan.” Emile pauses for a moment to think. “Probably smokes a lotta weed.”

“Are you pointing out girls for me or for you?” I ask him.

Emile continues to stare at the hipster girl, his gaze slowly spacing out.

“I ‘unno,” he says with a deadpan shrug. “Both.”

“Emile, look, I appreciate it, but I’m not focusing on girls right now,” I admit to him after a short beat.

“Oh,” Emile says, somewhat disappointed. His eyebrows suddenly jump up as he looks over to me. “Oh, wait, you into dudes? There’s plenty of guys on campus here, too.”

“No, no, no,” I say to him with an open palm, stopping him from pointing out more people in the creepiest way possible. “It’s not that. It’s…it’s…complicated…”

As I put out that last word, I catch sight of yet another girl across the street, her back turned to me. Her light brown hair falls down to the small of her back. It pulls over to the side, her right ear standing out against the side of her head. The familiarity of her strikes me like a closed fist.

Emile catches my gaze and smirks.

“Oh, you’re into her, huh?”

I stay silent. Not by choice.

The fleeting rise of the heart is followed by a subsequent horrific crash as this woman turns around, her face nothing at all like whom I thought she was. I sit there for a moment, forgetting about my roommate sitting beside me. For a moment…I thought…

“…Tyson?” Emile asks, snapping me back into reality. “Are you okay?”

“I…” My gaze does not break from this girl’s general direction. Every blink is a gamble with hope. A misguided gamble that she’ll suddenly transform into exactly who I thought she was.

I know it’s impossible.

“Yeah,” I tell him, trying to snap myself out of it. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

As if breaking from a trance, I rise from the marble wall, heading towards our original destination. Emile finds himself in a confused scramble between the hipster girl and me, though he eventually decides to follow behind my dragging feet.

“H-hey, man, cheer up,” Emile says in a desperate attempt to improve my mood. He slaps my back with a strong yet awkward gusto. “There’s someone out there for you, I know it.”

I force a smile.

“Thanks, Emile.”

After a short pause, Emile speaks again.

“Her piercing was pretty cool.”

I let out a chuckle.

“I wonder what her name was?” he says after another pause.

“Dude, let it go.”

 

**{~}**

**_< Evening>_ **

My phone vibrates in my pocket as I lay down for the night. What I’m presented with is a notification that I’ve been added to a group chat called _‘GU Squad’._

“What the hell…?” I mutter to myself.

Another vibration, and a text appears on the screen.

**_(Emile): wassup my homies_ **

_Oh dear god._

**_(Ally): heeeeeyyyy <3_ **

**_(Emile): who wants to hang this weekend_ **

**_(Tyson): We’re the only ones in the group._ **

**_(Emile): thats not a no_ **

**_(Ally): i do!!!!!_ **

Barely even a week into the school year and Emile already wants to start hanging out on the weekends. I’m shocked, but pleased. Better getting a personable roommate than a horrible one.

**_(Emile): lets give the game room a spin on saturday_ **

**_(Tyson): Where is that?_ **

**_(Ally): there’s a rec center past the student center, it’s super cool!!!_ **

_How many exclamation points does this girl use?_

**_(Tyson): Sure, I’m game._ **

**_(Emile): sweet_ **

**_(Emile): im goin to bed cyall tmrw_ **

**_(Ally): goodnight <3_ **

“What have I gotten myself into?” I quietly say to myself with a grin.


	6. Chapter 6

A blur of color. The smell of hard drinks. The sound of a piano. As my eyes crack open and my vision comes into focus, I see a familiar man standing behind a blue bar.

“Welcome to the Velvet Room,” Igor pronounces. “I am quite pleased to welcome you back to this place.”

I run my hands through my hair in frustration. A loud, annoyed groan escapes my lips.

“I’m getting really sick of these weird dreams,” I admit to Igor.

He simply chuckles at my response.

“That is understandable. Do not fear,” he responds. “You will grow accustomed to your unusual circumstances in due time. In fact, I see you have awakened to a rather strange power…”

My eyes widen and my arms stiffen.

“How did you know about that?”

“The power that has heeded the echoes of your weeping soul…it is known simply as ‘Persona’. Think of it as a reflection of yourself, one that truly represents what lies within. Our goal is to assist you in the cultivation of this power,” Igor states with a wide grin. “The being that answered your call…Bégo-Zhíni, was it? Quite intriguing…American folklore believes him to be responsible for the placement of the stars in the sky. Perhaps you are meant to cast a light of your own?”

Igor chuckles to himself. A slight movement in my peripheral vision causes me to look to my right. Another lone stool lies further down the bar on the inner corner of its L-shape. Behind this adjacent side of the counter is a rather posh-looking man with slicked-back silver hair. Draped over the shoulder of his white loose-fitting buttoned shirt is a visibly soft violet dishrag embroidered with a gold “V” surrounded by delicate tree branches. The man’s glowing irises match the gold of the embroidery. A small black pen is tucked behind his ear.

The man stands straight, smiles, and nods at me. I suddenly recognize this to be the same man who had me sign the contract to my dorm, though he’s in much more casual clothing befitting of a bartender.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, my boy,” he says in an English accent.

“Ah, my apologies,” Igor says. “Where are my manners? I realize you two have met before, but I suppose formal introductions are in order. This here is my assistant, Alphonse. He will assist you in cultivating your abilities, as well.”

“Abilities-…?” I ask him. I throw my hands up, my patience finally reaching its limit. “Alright, everyone slow down. What’s going on? What’s this whole Persona deal? Am I going completely crazy or not?!”

“If I may, Master,” Alphonse says to Igor with a hand to his own chest. Igor nods, and Alphonse looks to me.

Alphonse’s words come out very deliberately and delicately, and he makes direct eye contact as he speaks.

“As it is described in everyday language, your persona would be considered a mask that you would wear in the face of emotional hardship, or perhaps towards specific people or circumstances. It can take many forms, each to suit any given situation. However, in our terms, what we know to be a Persona is a physical manifestation of one’s inner self used to fend off the evils of the heart. In ordinary instances, one is only capable of utilizing a single Persona – the one that represents their own heart and innermost desires. However, you possess the rare ability to house more than one Persona at any given time. This is a phenomenon known as the ‘Wild Card’. Our duties here in the Velvet Room include, but are not limited to, assisting you in developing this ability, keeping a thorough documentation of said Personas, and furthering your journey with proper guidance.”

“Okay…but why do I need to know this?” I ask him after intently listening to his explanation. “What does this have to do with anything? What do you mean ‘evils of the heart’? What the hell are you two expecting me to _do_?”

“You do not need to understand this all at this very moment,” Igor interjects. “I acknowledge that it is a lot to take in. The answers you seek will present themselves, given time, I promise you. I simply summoned you here to discuss your newly awakened power, and to warn you of the coming dangers ahead.”

“Dangers?” I ask.

“Alongside your newfound potential, you have awakened to a dark and sinister power, as well,” Igor says, his eyes shut in contemplation. “The form your Persona transmogrified into is…rather abnormal, to say the least. In the coming months, corruption and deceit lie in wait. Should this corruption take hold, the waking world as you know it may change forever. We must not let that future come to be, and the dark power you hold has the potential to cloud this vision.

“Do not worry,” Igor continues. “Alphonse and I will stand at your side during the difficult trials ahead. Now then-…”

Before Igor can finish his sentence, I feel a sudden fuzziness up against my ankle and yelp in surprise. To my utter bewilderment, I look down to find a small, yellow dog looking back at me. Its tail wags in delight, and its tongue hangs low. He seems to be some sort of a yellow lab, though he’s only a puppy. For some reason, he’s wearing a tiny violet coat and bellboy cap.

“Aha, my sincerest apologies,” Alphonse says with a chuckle. “That would happen to be my companion. His name is Henry.”

Henry barks up at me and begins licking my ankle.

“He’s cute,” I say with a smirk once my heartbeat slows to a normal speed.

The small dog jumps onto my leg expectantly.

“He seems to have taken a liking to you,” Alphonse informs me.

I reach down to scratch behind his right ear, and I swear he nearly smiles at the attention.

“Come, Henry,” Alphonse calls.

The pup barks again and runs around the outside of the bar. He disappears behind it, presumably to lie by Alphonse’s feet.

“S-sorry, Master, please resume,” Alphonse says.

Igor sighs with extreme subtlety and looks up at me.

“Before you depart, there is one more thing I would like to discuss.”

Alphonse reaches behind the counter and retrieves a small black box. He pushes the box across the counter, causing it to elegantly slide into Igor’s hand. The imp-like man’s gloved fingers unlatch the two locks on the front of the container. Flipping the box open, he reveals a thin plastic violet card, adorned with my face and name. The same golden “V” on Alphonse’s towel in placed in the corner of the card.

“Is…” I ask with hesitant confusion. “Is that a credit card?”

“This will prove beneficial to your journey ahead, I assure you,” Igor says. “Consider it a gift.”

I take the card from Igor, looking it over. It sure looks like a credit card – it even has the black magnetic strip on the back and the gold chip on the front end. I have no earthly idea why Igor would be handing me a credit card, but I have a feeling that if he says it’s important, I had better listen.

“I understand you have a plethora of questions,” Igor continues. “However, the outside world has need of you. Next we meet, you will arrive here of your own accord. I look forward to our next encounter, my dear guest.”

As Igor smiles to me, my vision fades to black, and the atmospheric music fades with it.

 

**{~}**

**_-Wednesday, August 23 rd, 2017-_ **

**_-Lunchtime-_ **

**_< Firefly Café>_ **

****

“Alright, my dudes. You know what day it is. Who’s ready to rock on and party hard?”

Ally and I have been sitting in the café for a good few minutes. This is literally the first thing Emile says as he sees us, following a two-handed open palm slam on the table. Ally and I freeze in place staring at his dramatic entrance and flash each other quick side glances.

“What’s up with you?” I ask blankly.

Emile rolls his eyes in a ‘no shit’ motion before gesturing wildly.

“It’s the big day, man! The tryouts are today!” Emile exclaims. “Aren’t you guys excited?!”

“It’s only noon, Emile,” Ally says with a grin and a giggle. “It’s not for another _seven hours_.”

“Both of you are total friggin’ buzzkills,” Emile says dejectedly. “May as well kick me in the dick while you’re at it.”

“Sure, stand still,” I retort, beginning to stand from my chair.

“Wh-whoa, no, I was kidding!” Emile snaps, eyes wide, covering his crotch defensively.

“I wasn’t,” I say as dry as a desert.

Ally lets out a laugh.

“Hey, no kicking the rock star!” she says, jokingly holding her hand out at me like a bouncer.

Emile hesitantly sits beside me, making it a point to twist his waist in a safe direction.

“I really am excited for you, Emile,” Ally tells him. “I’m sure you’ll do great!”

“You’re comin’ too, right?” Emile says to me.

“Don’t see why not,” I tell him. “I don’t have anything else to do.”

“Hell yeah, bro,” he says. “Student center gym at seven. Don’t be late!” He points at me like a stern mother would, his finger hovering in front of me. I throw an uninterested glare between him and his suspended finger before lowering his hand for him.

_“Ring ring~”_

“Oh, that’s me,” Ally says, removing her phone from her pocket. Her face lights up – somehow even brighter than it usually is – upon seeing the caller ID. She quickly brings the phone to her head.

“Hey Ellie! How’re you doing?” Ally says with an impossibly wide grin. I can barely make out the faint voice of what sounds like a young girl on the other end.

I mouth, ‘Who?’ to Emile.

He mouths back, ‘Sister’.

“I’m hanging out with my friends!” she says over the line. Her face scrunches up in a jokingly offended smile. “Oh come on, I’ve got plenty of friends! …what? No, we’re in the middle of…”

Ally scoffs in defeat.

“Okay, okay, fine,” she says. She drops the phone to the table and presses the speaker button. “My sister wanted to say hi to you guys,” she tells Emile and me.

“How’s it goin’, hotshot?” Emile says to Ellie.

“Hey, Emile!” says a voice on the other end of the line. Through the speakers, Ellie comes through as a younger Ally, though her voice seems a touch deeper. “Good luck on your tryout today.”

“See! At least someone’s excited!” Emile says, gesturing to the phone.

“Cut it out, you’re boosting his ego,” I say with a chuckle.

“Who’s that?” Ellie says.

“Oh, Ellie, that’s my new friend, Tyson,” Ally responds.

“Tyson?” she says. “Is he a guy?”

“Wh-…” Ally spits out. “Y-yeah, why?”

“Is he cute?” Ellie says in a louder voice, most likely on purpose. “You probably think he’s cute. Send me a picture, I wanna see him.”

“Whoa, o-okay, wow, that’s enough of that,” Ally stutters with a forced nervous laugh. She nearly full-body tackles the phone on the center of the table, frantically searching for the speaker button. Ally readjusts her sunglasses propped up on her forehead and flashes us the fakest smile known to man. When she finally brings the phone back up to her face, she forces out a quietly rushed, “What is wrong with you?!” into the cell phone. Her pale face beams a deep red hue.

I can’t help but smile at the sister’s antics. Apparently Emile can’t either; he’s clearly holding back an outright guffaw.

“Ellie’s awesome, dude,” Emile tells me. “She’s sorta like Ally, but less of a stick in the mud.”

Ally overhears Emile’s remark and shoots him the dirtiest sideways glance I have ever seen grace a human face. Our necks stiffen and our smiles immediately vanish. I let out a quiet throat-clearing cough, while Emile breaks eye contact with the redhead and sips from his coffee. Ally continues to talk to her sister, presumably to scold her further.

“So, uh…how’s practice for the tryouts been going?” I ask Emile, trying to break the awkward ice spanning the table. “You ready for tonight?”

“Oh totally, dude,” Emile says with a toothy grin. “We’re playing our best song. We’ve played it hundreds of times. This shit’s locked and loaded!”

“Okay, bye Ellie,” Ally says into the phone. “Love you too.”

“What a stinker, right?” Emile says with a cocky smile.

Ally hits Emile with another poisonous stare.

“Alright, good talk,” he says sarcastically, further tempting fate and taking another loud sip of his drink.

_It’s a good thing they’re not married. Emile would get the couch tonight._

****

**{~}**

**_< Afternoon>_ **

_‘Corruption and deceit lie in wait’…_

Igor’s words from last night have been nagging at me for the past few hours. My train of thought has completely derailed, making this math lesson more of an afterthought than anything else.

_‘The waking world as you know it will change forever’…what is he talking about? What’s with all these cryptic hints?_

More importantly, another thought has occurred: whatever the deal with Igor or the Velvet Room is, I don’t think I can ignore it anymore. The fact that those dreams have been recurring and incredibly vivid means that it has to be more than a dream.

On top of that, the credit card he handed me in my dream has magically appeared in my wallet. So that sure doesn’t help anything.

“T-Man!” Emile whispers to me from my right.

I snap out of my daze. My eyes dart between Emile and the board, realizing half the problem has zoomed on by without a single scratch on my paper to show for it.

“You completely conked out there, dude,” Emile says with a hushed breath. “You gotta pay attention, cuz I’m sure as hell not catching any of this.”

Noticing Emile’s paper, he’s not wrong. The whole page of his notebook is full of crude doodles of superheroes and monsters, most of them rugged, half-finished, and sporting a common skull motif.

“Since Window Kid seems to understand it all,” Professor Chun suddenly speaks up in my direction. Looks like he took notice of my talking with Emile. “What’s the domain of _y = 2x 2+3x=14_?”

I snap to attention, look at the board, then at my blank notebook, and then back at the board.

“14 to infinity?” I say with as little confidence as a mouse.

Professor Chun lightly shakes his head.

“Close, but no dice. It’s _(-_ _∞_ _,_ _∞)._ Every quadratic function will have this as the domain, since the line never ends from both sides. Less talking, more math, guys.”

The rest of the students in the class give me side-eyed chuckles, while I look at Emile angrily. Clearly jaded from the stink eyes he’s received from Ally over the years, he smirks and shrugs. I don’t have to read minds to know he’s saying, ‘Told you so’.

 

**{~}**

**_< After School>_ **

“Wow, it’s pretty cramped in here,” Ally remarks.

“It’s just a tryout, too,” I say. “Competition might be tighter than I expected.”

Some sort of organization has set up a small portable stage with a minimalistic sound system in the intramural basketball gym in the back of the student center. Plenty of bands have shown up, and it’s pretty easy to tell who belongs to what group – one is a duo of a hometown-style brother and sister with an acoustic guitar and cajón, another group of four are dressed in formal attire and brought along violas and bass violins, while another team of people look like they came right out of a 90’s hard metal concert whose afterparty might’ve had a pinch too much cocaine.

Emile materializes between Ally and me with his arms around our shoulders, sporting a wide prideful grin.

“You guys ready to feel the beat?” he says.

“Rock on, my man,” I say, encouraging him.

“The other people here are starting to freak me out…” Ally admits through her teeth. Her eyes have been nervously scanning the room for the past few minutes.

“What about ‘em?” Emile questions.

“Well, they either look like they came out of a prep school and they’re judging me for the way I breathe…”

Ally’s gaze meets the crazy-eyed stare of a sophomore at the other end of the gym whose face is covered in white paint. His hair is spiked up in all directions, with each spike tipped in a different color of paint. So many piercings are dotted around his face that he’s basically half metal.

“Or like they’re going to bite my fingers off if I look at them funny.”

“Oh, him?” Emile says. “That’s Carl. He’s harmless.”

Emile waves and calls out.

“Yo, Carl!”

Carl notices Emile, flashing him a rock’n’roll symbol with his hands and sticking out his (again, pierced) tongue.

“Chill out, Ally,” Emile tells her. “This’ll be fun!”

“Hey, Emile!” says a voice closer to the stage. The guy motions for Emile to come to him.

“I’ll catch up with you guys later!” Emile says, patting me on the back.

The energetic boy runs off to his caller with a bounce in his step.

“I hope he makes it…” Ally says quietly.

“Why wouldn’t he?” I ask.

“I mean, I think he will,” she responds. “I’m only worried about what would happen if he doesn’t. Getting into this concert means a lot to him.”

Looking over at him, I see Emile talking to a bearded guy, presumably another band member of his. The two are talking very close to each other in hushed tones.

“Why does he want in so bad?” I inquire.

Ally goes quiet.

“He sees it as proof, I think,” she tells me after a moment of thought.

“Proof? Of what?”

“That he’s worth something. For as long as I’ve known him, he’s gone on and on about becoming famous someday, and that he wants to tour and be known the world over for his music…but so far, he hasn’t had much luck.”

“He’s only in college,” I tell her. “He has to start somewhere.”

“I know he does, and I’ve tried to tell him that, but…look at everyone else here.”

I do as she instructs, looking even closer at every band member present in this cramped space. I think I see what she means – every other musician here exudes a different aura than Emile, as if they all take it a touch more seriously than he does.

“Everyone else here is way further along than he is,” Ally points out. “They’ve got better connections, better chemistry between band mates, or maybe some of them just got lucky. It’s been like that for a long time, even with the other bands in high school. Being surrounded by that…I think that makes it hard on him.”

“Why is _this_ show so important, though?” I ask.

“A lot of local bands get noticed here,” she tells me. “It’s a big deal on campus. Talent scouts, record labels, the whole nine yards. If he gets in the show, chances are, some big shot is going to take notice of them. At least one group has been picked up each year. Some of them have even been given scholarships.”

“Last call for registration,” calls out a bland suited man with the screech of a megaphone.

Within the next few minutes, even more groups show up, filling the gym up at the last minute. Now that I look at it, Emile really does have a lot of people to go up against. It’s likely more than what he was expecting.

_We should get out of everyone’s way while they get ready…_

**{~}**

Ally and I sit back with the small crowd of spectators, watching each band go on and perform. One after another, they set up their equipment, play a quick song, the judges take down some notes, and the process repeats itself. Some bands have simple, honest names, like _Shining Starlight,_ while others take a vastly more lavish approach, with names like _The Devil’s Swinging Dick._

Heavy metal, eat your heart out.

After sitting through some enjoyable sets and others that I’d rather not listen to a second time, the suited man’s voice crackles out of his shoddy megaphone.

“ _Daredevil Scarlet_ ”, the man says.

“That’s them,” says Ally, excitedly.

I sit up straight in the metal folding chair, ready to hear my roommate play in his element for the first time. I take notice that Ally and I are the only ones that are truly invested in this performance, no matter how minor it is. The three judges at their table have had a disinterested demeanor all afternoon, and it doesn’t seem to be changing anytime soon. Nobody else in the audience is paying any mind, since this isn’t the band they specifically came to support. Even the other bands are too focused on their own thing to care that other people are vying for their spots in the show.

Emile comes up onto the stage alongside three other guys. The bearded man from earlier takes center stage at the microphone with a bass guitar in hand, while Emile stands stage right with his white-and-orange sunburst guitar. He reaches down to a set of foot pedals to grab a cord that he plugs into the bottom corner of the instrument. Another scrawnier-looking guy stands at a keyboard behind Emile, and the drummer in the very back has astoundingly long hair dropping out from underneath his flat cap.

Emile snap-points to the two of us, and we wave back. I see the sunlight from the open windows reflecting off of his lucky silver pick as he withdraws it from his pocket.

The drummer signals out the tempo before the band officially kicks their song into gear. Emile strums away at the main chord progression, showing a totally different side from what he showed me the other day – this sounds like something straight out of a rhythm video game. The bassist slaps away at his strings, complementing Emile’s playing. Meanwhile, the drummer keeps everyone working in near-perfect synchronization, and the keyboard player underscores it all with soft synths to tie it together with a nice metaphorical bow.

To my surprise, Emile doesn’t even have a microphone in front of him. I’m used to the lead guitarist being the lead vocalist, but it’s the bassist who belts out the lyrics. His voice has a sultry tone to it, but enough power behind it to make certain lines pack a punch. The entire band exudes the feel of ‘indie’.

Ally, sitting beside me with her right leg folded overtop her left, is tapping her suspended foot to the beat of the song and mouthing the words with a slight grin.

_So this is their best song, huh?_

Admittedly, I find myself tapping my foot along with the beat, too. It’s a super catchy tune. I’m having a hard time believing these guys wrote it themselves. The chorus bounces around yet stays grounded enough to where you can understand the lyrics. You can almost predict what they’re going to use to rhyme next.

The song eventually hits the bridge, and that’s when things get weird. Emile’s given his cue to break out into a guitar solo, only he’s going at it like a madman, flailing and hunching over. Granted, he’s playing the music well and it sounds incredible, but the rest of the band around him seems taken aback by his energetic outburst. On top of that, I’ve never heard this song until now, but it sure as hell seems like the solo has gone on for way too long. The drummer flashes a face of bewilderment and has to readjust his pattern accordingly.

I give Ally a sideways glance, and she does the same. Her face flashes an expression that I can only describe as an, ‘Oh, shit’ face.

As the song reprises its chorus, it’s clear to me that the entire band has completely lost their sense of momentum. Emile has essentially stolen the spotlight, expecting everyone else to keep up with him. The song eventually wraps up, though the other band members had to pick up the pieces of Emile’s mess.

“Thank you,” says the man with the driest voice possible into the megaphone. “Next up, _Terry’s Tavern Trio._ ”

As Emile and the rest of his band unplug their equipment, his face doesn’t even remotely match the expressions of the rest of them. A huge, dumb grin is plastered on his face, clearly brimming with energy. The bassist, on the other hand, is looking at him with a look of disdain. The pianist has his hands to his forehead while the drummer angrily stomps ahead backstage.

It takes Emile a moment to recognize the mood whiplash, and his smile slowly disappears. His frame droops as he watches the rest of his bandmates walk ahead of him. He shuffles for a moment, quite confused, before yanking the cable from his guitar and running after them.

“What just happened?” I ask.

“I have no idea,” Ally responds.

 

**{~}**

It takes us a while longer to sit through the rest of the performances, but after some suffering, we finally make it to the end of the lineup. The performers are all mostly hanging out in a big mass of people, communicating between each other as the judges convene for their final decisions. For whatever reason, we haven’t seen the whole of _Daredevil Scarlet_ since he went on.

“Where do you think he is?” I ask Ally.

“Probably talking to his band or something,” she responds.

“That wasn’t normal was it?” I say after a beat.

Ally solemnly shakes her head.

“No. I’ve never seen that before. I don’t think any of them were expecting it. They were totally thrown off.”

After some time of standing around waiting, the judges finally come forward, the disinterested man in the beige blazer with the megaphone at the lead. His voice stretches nearly every syllable out and travels so slowly, I feel like I’m going to pass out before his sentence is over.

“Alright, we’ve decided on the bands that will play at this year’s annual charity concert,” he mumbles into the megaphone.

He lists off a few band names. The closer he gets to the end of the list, the stronger the knot in my stomach grows. He’s yet to mention _Daredevil Scarlet_ even seven band names in.

A few more names later, and he lowers his paper.

“Oh no…” Ally with a gasp, covering her mouth.

“Thank you all for participating,” says the bored man. “We’ll email the winners with further instructions. Please exit the gym in an orderly manner.”

Everyone starts gathering up their equipment, either excited, frustrated, or anywhere in between. We hang back out of the way to wait for Emile’s band so we can catch up with him. The faces of the performers passing me by all drastically vary. As the pierced kid from earlier, Carl, walks past, he flashes the ‘call me’ sign to Ally, to which she looks at me with a face of frightened disgust.

As the crowd thins out, the other members of _Daredevil Scarlet_ appear, but Emile is nowhere to be found.

“Guys,” Ally says, stopping them. “Where did Emile go?”

The three of them exchange various looks between each other.

“He bolted already,” says the flat-capped drummer. “We don’t know where he went.”

“It’s not like it matters anyway,” says the scrawny piano player in a squeaky voice. “We voted him out of the band.”

The bearded bassist shoots the pianist a dirty look, and the drummer smacks the scrawny kid across the arm.

“Ow! The hell, man?”

Ally’s eyes widen at the kid’s remark.

“You did _what?!_ ” she screeches. Other people in the gym are taken aback by this random girl’s outburst. “He’s been your lead guitarist for almost two years! One screw up gets him kicked off?”

“Just one?” says the bassist with a scoff. “Don’t be stupid. This is a long time coming. He’s constantly doing whatever the hell he feels like. He never listens to the rest of us, and it sure doesn’t help that he never shows up for practice. How can he expect us to get anything done if he won’t cooperate with the rest of us?”

The angry glance from earlier today doesn’t hold a candle to the burning unbreaking gaze Ally holds against the bearded singer.

“This little stunt blew it for all of us. If he wants to get noticed so badly,” the bassist continues. “He can fuck up some other band’s reputation. We’re done.”

“We’ll see you around, Ally,” the drummer remarks as the group struts off.

Ally simply stares at them in disbelief. She’s at an utter loss for words, either due to anger or confusion.

They follow closely behind the remaining bands as they haul their equipment out of the gym, leaving Ally and I alone. The look in the redhead’s eyes flips back and forth between anger and shock before she eventually closes them altogether with a loud angry exclamation.

“What assholes,” I say aloud with disdain.

“We-…” she says, trailing off. The last of her anger seems to have subsided, now replaced by a quiet, sullen voice. “We should find Emile.”

“Where do you think he went?”

Ally kneads the back of her neck, ironing out whatever stress that’s built up.

“I think I have an idea.”

 

**{~}**

 

“Emile, please, open up,” Ally pleads, knocking on the door to his room.

“Leave me alone,” we hear muffled behind the door.

Emile’s been halfheartedly fiddling with his guitar in his room for the past few minutes. No real melody has been coming out of his amp; in fact, most notes are way off-key. He’s locked himself up in his room since he got back and, so far, refuses to unlock it.

“Look, man, we wanna talk it out,” I tell him.

“Talk what out?” he calls back.

“Emile, open the door,” Ally says, with a touch of force this time.

I hear a reluctant sigh and the soft click of an amp dial. Very quiet footsteps reach the door, unlocking it and cracking it open.

“What d’ya want?” Emile asks, purposefully without making eye contact.

“Are you okay?” Ally asks.

“Am I okay?” Emile repeats, somewhat angrily. “Of course I’m not okay, they kicked me out of the band.”

“We heard,” I tell him. “What’s up with that?”

“We haven’t been getting along for the past few months,” he tells us. He lets out an exasperated sigh. “They don’t know what they’re doing.”

“Emile, they told us you haven’t been showing up for practice,” Ally says.

“I haven’t been able to!” he tells her defensively. “I’ve been busy getting ready for the school year and moving in. I’ve had too much going on. It’s not like we needed to practice as often as they wanted to, anyway. We play _Ghosts in the City_ all the time! We already knew what we were doing!”

“Apparently not,” Ally shoots back. “They had no clue you were going to throw out the solo like that. Emile, if this matters so much to you, you easily could’ve made the time to show up for practice. We were hanging out a bunch last week before school started!”

Emile ignores Ally’s points and walks back over to his bed. He leans up against the raised frame, his head hung low. He shakes his head. He hasn’t looked up more than 45 degrees from the ground since we walked into the room.

“They’ll come back,” he says in a hushed tone. “They need me. They aren’t shit without me.”

The room goes quiet, an emotional fog encompassing the three of us. Out of the short time I’ve known these two, this is the first time I’ve seen Emile not his usual hyperactive self. Going from one extreme to the other is more disheartening than I would have ever expected. What’s even more shocking is his inherent cockiness; what I assumed was simply excitement for the upcoming event has shown its true colors as genuine arrogance.

“I’m sorry, Emile,” Ally says to him. “I don’t mean to get angry at you. I know how much this meant to you.”

“Thanks,” Emile replies. “But I really want to be alone right now.”

I look to Ally and she nods slightly. She walks over to the downtrodden Emile and gives him a hug. He half-heartedly returns the sentiment. As I escort Ally out of our dorm room, she turns to me with a pleading look in her eye.

“Can you do me a favor?” she whispers to me.

“Yeah, sure,” I tell her.

“Can you keep an eye on him? Keep him company after classes and all that?” she asks. “When he gets upset, it’s best to let him iron it out himself, but if he’s alone, he tends to sulk too much.”

“Of course,” I tell her. “Don’t worry. I’ll text you if anything comes up.”

“Thank you,” she responds with a reassured tone. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ally hugs me, as well, and then turns to leave. When I look back at Emile’s room, the door is already shut again, closing him off from the world.

_I hope he’ll be all right…_

 

**{~}**

_~…find…me…~_

My eyes snap open and my body ripples with shock. I sit up, groggy and disillusioned. It doesn’t take me long to realize something is horribly wrong. I try to focus on my surroundings, but the more I focus, the more disoriented I get. Everything around me doesn’t make sense – the shapes, the colors, the sounds. I feel horribly sick to my stomach and every movement of my head makes it worse.

What I see around me is completely beyond comprehension


	7. Chapter 7

“Where am I…?”

Surrounding me is…I’m not even sure. I _swear_ I’ve somehow ended up outside in some random alleyway in Gode, but…something is terribly wrong. While the structure and the layout of the city are identical, it’s all horribly twisted at the same time.

The city is cast in a dark teal film, a thin fog glistening in an unsourced light. Floating specks of varying sizes comprised of pure white light hover in the open air. They rise from within the ground, floating up into the sparkling night sky adorned with multicolored stars. The moon lies suspended in the middle of the darkness, only it isn’t as it should be – instead of the large, familiar, calming orb, it’s a slowly-swirling ominous milky vortex. The superstructures in either direction of me block out most of the sky; only the stars and the disfigured moon are in view. In fact, it occurs to me that, in the depths of a metropolis, stars shouldn’t be viewable at all. Not this clearly, at least.

On the city surface, the grass is still. The lack of a breeze sticks out like a sore thumb. Nature itself is stagnant. Windows into buildings are darker than the dead of night. The concrete and tar of the road under my feet seem to rhythmically shift ever so slowly, as if it’s breathing. Street signs wave like water, never staying still long enough to hold a recognizable picture or word. With every blink, the scripts transform. Streetlights are vacant, providing no urgency for a silent city.

The most bizarre, however, is how nature and industry are haphazardly fused together. What little grass grows in a city leaks into the streets like a child couldn’t color between the lines. Excess patches of greenery dot the roads at random like a rash. On the sides of the skyscrapers reaching the heavens, full and blossoming branches of foliage burst forth from within the confines of the brick. Some branches are simple bushes, while others dangle their plumage miles below towards the street surface like a weeping willow.

“Holy shit…” I mutter under my breath as I gather my surroundings.

The balance between familiarity and unfamiliarity in this world teeters over the edge of the uncanny valley, running a firm tightness to the pit of my stomach and a wave of disorientation to my head. To make the unsettling area worse, haunting noises – moaning, aimless singing, creaking of metal – seem to be coming from nowhere and everywhere. My fight or flight response refuses to conflate.

As I stumble around aimlessly, each step creates a small web of glowing blue cracks underneath my feet. These cracks disappear as I lift my foot, and then reappear under me as I return my sole to the ground. The glowing white orbs that phase through the Earth’s surface float upwards towards the open sky, some faster than others. I attempt to grab one out of curiosity, but it passes straight through my hand, continuing higher and higher until it blends in with the rest.

I head straight on, hoping to find some reference point or landmark. Literally anything that could set me back on track. This murky back street…no soul would dare venture here on a dark night. As I exit the alley, I find nothing remotely recognizable about this street. I’ve never had to go this far away from my dorm room yet. I’d bet anything either Emile or Ally could direct me, but in this case, I’m on my own.

I withdraw my phone from my pocket, hoping to possibly contact either of my friends, or even campus security to come pick me up. Unfortunately, the screen is as dark as the windows of the buildings. No matter what button I push, the device refuses to light up.

Lifting my gaze back up from my phone in a frustrated fit, I take notice of someone walking down the street ahead of me. Their back is turned to me. My eyes widen, and I quickly shove my phone back into my pocket and give chase.

“Hey, excuse me!” I call out.

I receive no answer from them.

“I’m sorry, could you please help me?” I proclaim, a little louder this time.

Again, no answer.

_Can they even hear me…?_

As I catch up to the figure, dread washes over me. This person, a woman with long blonde hair, is walking very slowly with her back slightly arched, as if she’s exhausted from a long workday of manual labor. Her feet drag with each step, and her hands dangle at her sides with little purpose.

“E-…Excuse me?” I ask, softly this time. “Are you-…is everything alri-…”

As I raise my hand to her shoulder, trying to catch her attention, she comes to a stop, slowly turns toward me, and I scream.

She has no face.

“What the fuck?!” I yelp.

I trip on my own feet as I step back, dropping to the ground flat on my ass with a scream of pain. I scramble backwards, scratching my open palms on the sidewalk surface. I’m unable to look away from her. I think she’s staring back. I can’t tell. She has the shape of a face…she has a nose, cheekbones, and the cliff to her forehead where her eyebrows should be. However, she’s completely lacking a mouth or eyes. In their place is more skin, as if whatever sick deity is out there never finished making her.

She stares at me for a moment, saying nothing – could she if she wanted to? – before slowly turning back around, resuming her slow pace ahead.

It takes me what feels like centuries to get my breathing to slow and to regain the courage to stand. For safety’s sake, I wait until the disturbing woman is certainly back on her way before making a brisk walk in the opposite direction as her.

Following the path away from the monster, I see another person, a man, further down the street. He’s sitting against a wall, presumably homeless. I can tell even from here that he, too, has no face. Another man in a pleated suit stands under an inactive streetlight on the street corner, his featureless mug looking out to the city. He stands still as wood.

“Oh my god…”

In my unbridled panic, I run further down the road, my feet crunching on concrete and dirt alike. The tight corridors between the massive buildings open up to a clearing at an intersection, giving me a better view of the skyline. As I look on to the populace of the city, the faceless creatures are all I see, none of them acting normal in any way. They’re all staring off into the sky, sitting on the ground hunched over, sitting on a park bench with their arms loose at their side and their heads hung back, walking aimlessly in any given direction with no purpose, or standing completely still without even a breath…

“What the hell is going on…?!” I mumble to myself.

_“Find…me…”_

As if my heart couldn’t race any faster, an all-too-familiar voice calls out to me, just as it has for the past week.

“Who’s there?!” I scream, looking around in every direction. “Who are you?!”

Silence.

“Answer me!!”

More silence.

My legs grow weak as this world pulsates around me. I feel sick. Tired. Lost. Alone. My knees bend from the pressure and I fall to the ground, unable to find the strength to continue on. Whatever hell I’ve found myself in, its oppressive atmosphere fights to choke me out.

Is it my fault I’m here? Maybe I deserve it. Maybe this is where I belong.

I close my eyes tight, begging and pleading that this is nothing more than another nightmare. My fingers run through and tug at my hair.

_Am I losing my mind?_

A strange high-pitched sound catches my attention and pulls me out of my trance.

“Hello…?” I call out.

In a hectic fit, my eyes dart around my surroundings, hoping to find the source of the sound.

_Squeak!_

In the direction of the small, childlike noise, I spot a small dark object leaning out from around a building’s corner. The moment I look at it, it darts out of sight and disappears, moving much more nimbly than these faceless zombies.

“Hey…!” I yell out to it.

I firmly plant both feet on the ground, the blue cracks spreading from below my feet. I stand, blood flowing back into my legs. I walk towards where I saw the shape last.

“Hello?” I yell out, calmer this time. I attempt to adopt a friendly tone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

No response.

“It’s okay, I won’t hurt you,” I plead. “I promise.”

As I approach the corner where the shape disappeared, I see it again, only this time further down the street. I can’t get a good look at it – all I can see is a tiny black moving blob with stumpy legs. It seems to emit a slight glow, as if it’s outlined in white marker.

The blob squeaks again, affirming that it’s the source of the sound. As soon as it does, it darts out of sight again before I can catch up to it.

“Wow, that thing’s fast…”

The two of us repeat this dance for a few more blocks. I see it, it squeaks, it runs off, and the cycle continues. If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume it’s trying to get me to follow it.

The further I follow the blob into the city, the stranger things get. Graffiti animates across tagged walls. Trees twist and contort into each other. Small parks resemble outright forests. Fountains run backwards, pulling water from the basin against gravity. Flowers glow with a beautifully eerie light. Random objects melt or phase out of existence at random. Hauntingly, in major streets, cars sit lined up yet powered off. More faceless people rest inside the cars, all of them unmoving.

Out of all of this, the most concerning thing are the deep, dark, black cracks spreading nearly everywhere. Certain spots seem to be clean, but the further I explore this strange city, the more common they become. They reach across surfaces like gargantuan spider webs, connecting into one another. Some of them mass together into one large night-black blob before spreading out again in another direction. In the spots where the cracks become the most centralized, a thick black goop seeps out of them, leaking across the ground and pulsating with a red glow.

I catch glimpses of the dark pudgy creature leaping over the cracks or walking around them as best it can. I take it I’m not supposed to touch them, and I follow by example.

Keeping up with the blob proves difficult. This city is nearly impossible to navigate. Every road and every corner looks like it’s been spliced and stitched together from somewhere else in the world. Each intersection splits off into another city. None of the architecture is consistent. Some buildings are modern and cylindrical, like in Dubai or Shibuya, while others seem older and squared off like New York or Atlanta. Branching roads and alleyways narrow out, transforming into the streets of Rome with stone surfaces or the dirt-coated back alleys of India. Billboards, banners, and posters transform into another language every time I look at them.

Perhaps this is why I couldn’t recognize where I was – this isn’t Gode at all. Or, rather, it is, but…only partially.

However, no matter where I go, a few things are consistent: the thin dark teal fog remains, the foliage stays fused with the concrete, the vortex of a moon looms overhead, and the strange white orbs rise to the sparkling sky.

Turning one last corner, what I see is horrifying. The black cracks have culminated against the wall of a Victorian-era building, and the deep dark goop has all but swallowed the place. The structure itself is completely disfigured, twisting and bending as if a small child had its way with a clay figure. The nearby lampposts are curved toward the ground, as if bowing to the entity. It’s clear to me that whatever this substance is, it’s certainly not a friendly one.

At my feet, stopped in front of this building and standing barely even halfway up to my knees, is the blob creature. Now that it’s right in front of me, I see that it indeed has stubby legs, but it also has stubby arms to match. None of the limbs end in digits – they’re simply round nubs. It also has a small curl on the top of its head made out of the same material as the rest of its body, resembling a loose hair. Whatever dark matter it’s made of is opalescent, as if there’s a galaxy inside. On its face are two large oval white eyes. In a sea of disturbing imagery, this small thing is oddly cute by comparison.

The eyes blink at me, and the creature squeaks again, waving its arms at its sides.

“What is it? Why’d you lead me here?”

_Squeak!!_

The creature, seemingly panicked, walks closer to the distorted building and motions upward at the wall. It takes me a moment to notice anything, but I finally catch sight of what it’s pointing at.

Trapped inside the black tendrils, wrapped within their malicious grasp, is a woman. She’s stuck between the black mass and the wall of the twisted building, multiple feet up from the ground. All I can see poking out from within the sludge are her hands and her head, her long silver hair obstructing her face.

“Oh my god!” I exclaim. I make a step towards her.

The creature squeaks and outer corners of its eyes slant, as if it’s scared.

The commotion caused by the two of us stirs the woman awake. She groans and her head rocks to the side ever so slightly.

“H-help me,” she croaks. Her voice sounds coarse, as if she’s been yelling for hours. “Please…I don’t want to die…”

“Don’t worry, hang on, I’ll help you!” I assure. “How do we get you out?”

“I…I don’t know,” she admits.

The woman’s head barely moves. She’s stuck so deep within this goopy substance that her neck is restricted, as is every other part of her body.

The girl visibly twitches. She gasps loudly.

“W-watch out!” she stammers. “Th-they’re here!”

“Who’s here?!”

“The Shadows!” she screams.

“The what?!”

A high-pitched squeal from the blob and a loud splashing sound stop my train of thought. I whip around, and as I do so, I flinch. Two faceless humans, a man and a woman, have materialized. However, unlike all the ones I’ve run into so far, these ones can’t seem to stop violently twitching every few seconds. Their skin oddly pulsates with a deep red glow, not unlike the black goop surrounding us.

The black blob runs behind me, standing behind my heels, squeaking in terror.

“They did this,” the woman says from the wall behind me. “The Shadows. Those foul creatures are to blame for the corruption!”

Unsure of what to do, I awkwardly stand with my fists balled up in front of me, attempting a stance I saw in a boxing match on TV.

These strange figures move their heads up to ‘look’ at me and start violently shaking. As they do so, glowing crimson cracks cover their bodies. With an explosion of black and red sludge, the bodies shatter into shards of glass, giving way to brand-new forms underneath. What stands in their place are two small floating monsters, both of them draped in tattered cloaks and holding a lantern with gloved fists. The weirdest part are their heads – they’re literally nothing more than carved jack-o’-lanterns wearing witch hats.

“What the hell?!” I eject.

“Run!!” the woman screeches behind me. “Get away from them!”

Before I have time to heed the woman’s warning, one of the pumpkin monsters makes a high-pitched sound and rushes at me, aiming to swing its lantern across my face. I hold my arms crossed in front of my face and shut my eyes, bracing for impact.

Moments before the collision, time slows to a crawl. Images dance through my head of the nightmare days before – Dawn, the drunken man, and the monster I created. A familiar voice echoes from beyond.

 _“The power of Persona…”_ Igor chides with a sly chuckle. His toothy grin extends the length of his face. _“It has already heeded your call. Now is the time to realize its potential…wouldn’t you agree?”_

My eyes snap open. I glare at the cloaked figure frozen before me, a fire in my eyes. I throw my arms to my sides. A wave of energy bursts from within me in all directions. With that, time resumes, and the wave forces the pumpkin back towards its companion. The blob creature’s eyes go wide.

A strong blue flame emanates from my pocket. Without even looking, I withdraw my phone, holding its burning embers in the palm of my hand.

I give the phone a light toss, causing it to flip in the air. I ball my hand up into a fist.

“PERSONA!!”

I smash the back of my hand into the surface of the screen.

The phone disintegrates in an explosion of cyan fire and glass. Glowing blue cracks stretch the length of my forearms and calves. A long, wooden spear appears within my closed fist.

The shape of Bégo-Zhíni looms above me.

The woman behind me gasps.

“A Persona…!” she lauds.

The blob’s arms go limp at its sides as it stares at my Persona in awe with small white dots for eyes.

I twirl the spear in my hand, holding it with both hands and pointing it in front of me. I take a much more determined stance than I had before.

“Let’s go!” I call out to my Persona.

 _“With pleasure, my child,”_ the warrior responds.

The warrior holds his hand out before him, tossing out a ball of yellow light to strike one of the pumpkin creatures. It reels back, but doesn’t fall.

 ** _“How dare you, ho!”_** the creature screeches in a strange high-pitched voice.

_What did it just call me?!_

Before I can process the assumed insult, the other pumpkin freak jingles its lantern and causes the air around me to erupt in flames.

I wince in pain, but no major harm is done.

 ** _“That’s what you get, hee!”_** it taunts.

Having completed his command, Bégo-Zhíni vanishes and the cracks and flames retreat. I rush at the weaker pumpkin, thrusting my spear outward and piercing its body three times in a row. With another burst of black and red sludge, its body falls apart, dissipating into the air.

**_“He’s too strong, hee! Retreat, ho!”_ **

The second pumpkin monster turns and rushes off in an attempt to escape.

“Oh no you don’t!” I call out.

As if on reflex, I twirl my spear in my right hand and hold it up beside my head with the point facing outward. I raise my left hand with my thumb up, preparing my trajectory. With a grunt, I step forward with my left foot, then let my right arm loose, tossing my spear out into the air like a javelin, landing a perfect hit into the back of the escaping monster. It explodes into its dark sludge on impact. The spear off in the distance phases and disappears into blue flame.

_…How did I do that._

The small blob creature very suddenly latches onto my leg, squeaking cries of victory and celebration. Its eyes turn into upward crescent shapes, signifying happiness.

“That was amazing,” the woman says behind me.

I spin on my heel, having momentarily forgotten she was there. Before I can react, the globular mass against the wall shrinks and dissolves, revealing more of the woman underneath. I run forward, catching her and breaking her fall as the mass releases her from its grasp with a sticky ripping sound. As the dark substance disappears, the lampposts bend upright and the building morphs back into its original shape. Tree branches instantaneously sprout on its side and flowers bloom around it from within the sidewalk. It’s a strangely beautiful sight.

The woman remains hunched over in my arms for a moment, breathing heavily and shaking quite a bit. Her silver hair hangs low, obscuring her face from me. She’s dressed in a pale gray dress that’s seen better days – the hem is frayed and the short sleeves are torn. Her forearms are covered in what look like discolored gauze, though her fingers are exposed. Judging purely by her height and her build, she seems to be just about as old as I am, though she’s also slightly malnourished.

“Hey,” I articulate to her. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.” The blob creature nudges her, as if to help me calm her down.

She finally manages to sit up, and she runs her hand through her hair, exposing her face. What I see only adds to the mystery: unlike the other faceless creatures I’ve seen, she has a full set of facial features…but thick dirtied gauze is wrapped around the circumference of her head, spanning between her eyebrows and nose. It’s fully covering her eyes.

In a moment of disillusioned silence, I hesitantly reach my hand toward the gauze. Perhaps the monsters put it on her, preventing her from seeing. Instead, she flinches and leans back, somehow reading my action without even looking at me. I pull my hand back, not wanting to upset her further.

“Are you the voice that’s been calling for me?” I ask, breaking the silence.

She nods.

“The Corruption has nearly swallowed this world whole,” she croaks weakly. She doesn’t look at me – her blindness leads me to believe she can’t see where I am. Yet, she reacts as if she could. “I didn’t know what to do, so I called out for help, but that’s when the Shadows attacked me, and…”

Her voice wavers and she talks swiftly, as if she’s on the verge of crying and she’s spilling out her thoughts before the tears choke her up.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” I tell her. I try to reassure her, my voice taking on a tone I would have liked to hear myself when I had arrived here. “What’s your name?”

“My…name?” she repeats.

“Yeah, you know. What other people call you. I’m Tyson.”

“Tyson,” she repeats to herself.

She pauses in thought.

“I don’t have a name. At least, not a proper one,” she admits. “They call me The Seer.”

_Well that’s just ironic._

“I reside over this place,” she continues. “I sense all that transpires here. Or, rather…I used to, until the Corruption spread.”

“That black stuff?”

“Yes. It is like a virus, expanding its reach as far as it can, and as it does so, it distorts and destroys whatever is in its path. Anyone unfortunate enough to fall for its trickery is trapped within it. It…it _feeds_ off of these lost souls. As this world becomes more and more unstable, my ability to protect it fades.”

She hangs her head low again.

“This world was meant to be peaceful,” she laments. “It’s always been that way for as long as I can remember, but now…now the Corruption is stealing its powers for its own designs.”

_‘This world’…_

I hesitate to ask. I’m scared of the answer.

“Am I dreaming?” I ask her.

The Seer nods. She moves to stand. I try to help her, though she manages on her own. She brushes herself off. The blob stands closer to her, happy to see her recover. She reaches down to pet it.

“What you did was risky, little one,” she whispers to the blob. “But you did well. Thank you.”

It makes a happy squeaking sound in return.

The Seer turns her attention back to me.

“This world is the harmonious collection of all unconscious minds, joining together in unison. When a mind rests, their consciousness arrives here, and this is where their dreams live,” she informs me. “But…you’re not like the others.”

“Others?”

“The Faceless…the dreaming souls who occupy the world. They are only capable of seeing what is created for them, and what they dream, in turn, shapes this world. They wander endlessly in pure bliss, until they disappear, returning to their host body in the waking world.”

She turns to me, eyeing me intently…or, I would assume she is.

“You, however, are different. You are fully aware of the world around you…”

She pauses in thought.

“Perhaps…it has something to do with your Persona.”

“So then you have one, too?”

“No,” she admits, shaking her head. “I’m…not like you. I’m not human. I exist purely in this world. My consciousness resides here and here alone.”

Her body visibly stiffens, and she stands up straight. The blob seems to do the same.

“We need to keep moving,” she says.

“What? Why? What’s happening?”

“The Shadows. They’re responsible for the Corruption, so they live in heavy concentrations of it. If we remain here for too long, they’ll find us and attack.”

“I have a Persona,” I tell her, clenching my fist. “Can’t I fight them off?”

“Not for long,” she explains. “I can sense your incredible potential, but you cannot fight forever. The Shadows will eventually overtake you…if not in strength, then in numbers.”

She trots ahead at a steady speed, motioning for me to follow. The blob sprints behind her.

“Come,” she says. “This way. Quickly.”

I look back at the city behind me, covered in cracks and globs of darkness. The sight sets off a chain reaction of emotions. It’s a terrifying sight, one I’d like to walk away from and never see again. At the same time, though, knowing I have the power to do something about it…

Begrudgingly, I turn to follow after The Seer.

 

**{~}**

           

I keep behind the strange woman as we weave through the city together. She guides me through alleyways and backstreets, each of them resembling somewhere else in the world. She walks at a brisk pace. I follow as closely as I can.

“So what’s up with these Shadow things?” I ask after a long stretch of silence. “What’s their deal?”

“I’m not sure,” she admits. “They’ve always existed here, but once the corruption started spreading, they became increasingly violent. They’ll attack anyone they deem a threat.”

“And you’ve been avoiding them all this time?”

“As I said, I sense everything that happens here. I was able to avoid coming in contact with the Shadows. But as the corruption spreads, it becomes more difficult, and so they got the best of me.”

The Seer slows her speed as we come into an awfully familiar clearing.

“Here we are,” she states. “We’re safe here.”

“Whoa, hang on,” I exclaim. “This is Crown Park!”

Strangely enough, this area is the same compass-like ring of road surrounding a flourishing spot of nature that Emile and I had been to just a few days ago. I even spot the small stone ledge we sat on when he went on a pointing spree.

“You recognize this place?” The Seer questions.

“Yeah, it’s only a few blocks down from my dorm.” I walk closer to the edge of the grass. “Hell, it’s the only place I’ve recognized this whole time,” I murmur under my breath.

The Seer makes her way into the center of the clearing and I follow closely behind. As we get into the thick of the trees, I notice a glowing blue ring perfectly shaped around the small forest. Some of the black cracks stop directly against this ring. I assume it’s preventing them from spreading inside the park. As soon as The Seer enters the ring, it glows slightly brighter.

As the three of us enter the small forest, the blob chirps. As it does, the leaves rustle overhead. I reflexively shoot my eyes upward. Beside me, The Seer smiles. Poking out from the foliage and dropping down to the ground are more of these black blobs of varying shapes and sizes. Some of them have different shapes of ‘hair’ poking out of their heads, but the one that led me to The Seer is the only one with a curl. The blobs all converge together and squeal happily.

“What are they?” I ask in bewilderment.

“They’re Fragments,” she says. “They’re ideas, thoughts, and memories that have taken on their own physical form.”

I give The Seer a look that shows I have no clue what she’s talking about.

“Like I said earlier, this world is where dreams live,” she goes on to explain. “Sometimes, parts of those dreams will break off. Those pieces tend to be ideas or memories, and Fragments form out of those pieces. When the Corruption began to spread, I became worried for their wellbeing, so I took it upon myself to bring them here so I could protect them.”

“Huh…” I mumble to myself. I’m still having a hard time understanding what’s going on, but watching the Fragments interact with each other helps put my mind at ease a bit.

“Tyson, was it?” The Seer says, breaking my trance.

“Yeah?”

“Please, follow me. I want to show you something.”

Dead center in the park, nearly entirely obscured by the overgrowing trees, is a tall structure made of pure glass. It almost resembles some sort of chess piece, towering about as high as the buildings across the street. It’s mostly transparent, though the light shining through it gives it an opaque glow, like an opal gem. At the base of this tower is a massive reflective surface – a giant mirror.

Examining the structure further, I find the glass isn’t actually so clear after all – a black wispy liquid dances through the center of it, like creamer in a cup of coffee.

“What is this thing?” I ask.

“This is the Spire,” she tells me. “Through it, I can observe the dreams of the residents of this world. The Spire cannot fall to the Corruption, so that’s another reason I’ve tried to protect this area.”

“You can see into people’s dreams?” I inquire with a smirk. “You’ve probably seen some weird stuff.”

The Seer, unamused, walks up to the Spire and tenderly rests her hand on its glass surface. It glows ever so slightly to her touch. The corners of her mouth rise in a tender smile.

“Dreams are a beautiful thing,” she tells me in a reverent tone. “They shape to the sleeper’s innermost desires and beliefs, ones buried so deep you’ve long forgotten about them in your waking life. They utilize your happiness, your love…your hate, grief, sadness...your emotions are their tools. They either forge a perfect world built to be a safe haven from the life you lead, or pull you deeper to experience darkness in order to change the undesirable. They provide solitude from the horrors of the waking world, while simultaneously teaching you about yourself with horrors of its own. Where there is a terror, there is hope to be discovered. It holds a substantial importance to the development of the human mind.”

“Wow,” I whisper, bewildered by such a passionate expression.

“It’s my duty to oversee these dreams and to protect those who rest.”

The Seer’s hand against the glass tenses up.

“And that’s why the Corruption is a problem?” I question after a short pause.

The Seer sighs.

“When a consciousness travels to this world, it doesn’t stay forever,” she explains. “Once the dream ends, they are released back into the waking world to reunite with their body and adapt to what they’ve discovered in their subconscious. The vile Corruption has changed that. Over and over again, I’ve seen a consciousness enter this world and become ensnared in its tendrils, unable to disappear and return to its host.”

The light bulb in my head ignites.

“The comas…!” I exclaim under my breath.

The strange girl nods.

“If the consciousness cannot return to the body, then the body cannot awaken. Through the dreams of the people in your world, I know there is a lot of fear surrounding this sudden pandemic. Without knowledge of this world…they will never get their answer.”

I twiddle my fingers as I look up at the strange glass structure, attempting to process all that I’ve learned.

“Tyson,” The Seer states, removing her hand from the Spire. “I know this is a lot to ask of you, but, quite frankly, you’re my only option.”

She walks closer to me. She places both her hands on my wrists. Her head aims at me. I can feel the pleading nature of her eyes beaming through the gauze, assuming she has them.

“I need your help to destroy the Corruption. I believe there may be a way to do it, but I cannot do it alone. Not without a Persona.”

“Me?!” I exclaim nervously. My heartbeat quickens, and I’m suddenly aware of how cold The Seer’s hands are.

“You’ve already shown me what you’re capable of,” she pleads. “Being able to function in this world with your consciousness fully intact is a feat in and of itself. I can assist you to the best of my abilities. We may be able to put a stop to this if we work together. It’s a long shot, but I believe we may have a chance.”

I find it hard to come up with the right words. I have to accept the fact that this isn’t just some crazy repeated nightmare anymore. My Persona, this alternate reality, and an explanation for the comas make it all too real. I think back to the city covered in the Corruption, the frames of buildings contorting under its weight. With the power I’ve been given, seemingly by chance, I could fix all of that and save the lives of so many people.

But…at the same time, if this is all real, and I’m the only one capable of doing something about it, what happens if I fail? _When_ I fail? To have all that responsibility and all of those lives fall to me and me alone...it’s a pressure I’m not sure I’d be able to handle.

I try to focus on thoughts of Bégo-Zhíni and the dream that introduced me to him, hoping his visage and my actions that night could inspire me as they have before. However, what I see instead are encroaching images of my fallen mother and the woman I loved, both of their fates out of my hands.

I sigh, looking away from her covered face.

“I don’t know,” I quietly confess to her. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

The Seer freezes. She seems surprised by my response.

“Why…why not?” she stammers, her hopeful façade shattered. “You were perfectly willing to fight earlier…”

I again struggle to find the right words.

“I had to. I wasn’t going to let the Shadows get to you.”

As the words escape my mouth, I know that’s not what she wanted to hear. It’s not entirely what I wanted to say, either.

I step back. Her grip weakened on my arms, I easily slide away.

“Look,” I tell her, choking on my own words. “I’ve had a lot go wrong in my life already. I don’t know if I can live up to that sort of responsibility where other people’s lives are on the line. I don’t know if you even _want_ my help. I might just end up screwing everything up for everybody…I’ll end up letting you down…letting _everyone_ down.”

The Seer pauses, shell-shocked. She clearly wasn’t expecting me to react this way, either because she was certain that I would agree or because she got her hopes up on her own.

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” I tell her. “You expected more from me…”

The Seer holds her arms weakly at her side, unsure of what to say. After a while of silence, she finally speaks again after taking in a breath.

“Tyson, I know it may seem daunting, but something deep inside me knows that you’re someone I can trust. Someone I can count on despite your doubts. You may not think you’re capable, but please, trust me when I say that you can do so much more than you believe.”

She turns her back to me, deep in thought.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” she continues. “Wake up. Think about it. If you change your mind…all you have to do is dream.”

I’m struck by the sudden words of confidence. I try to reach out to her apologetically, but she walks further ahead out of my reach.

“I believe in you, Tyson,” she says firmly. “Don’t make a decision you’re going to regret.”

As she walks away, the world around me slowly shifts and melts away. I feel my body falling out from within itself, the world of dreams fading out into a cold, unforgiving darkness.

 

**{~}**

**_-???-_ **

As Tyson disappears from the land of dreams, the hauntingly beautiful city becomes as quiet as it was before he stumbled upon it. The distant moans of the Shadows are the only sound echoing against the rough surfaces of the skyscrapers and the unmoving forms of the Faceless.

In another block of this strange world, far away from where Tyson and The Seer had conversed, a new Faceless fades into existence. As with the others, the unknown figure slowly wanders up the street, mesmerized by what’s around it. It’s unable to see the cracks it steps on, the people it passes – what it sees is purely what it desires. If only it could see the world for what it truly was.

The further the unknown figure walks, the denser the cracks become. Taking notice of the new visitor, the manipulative corruption follows the figure across the ground like an insect. It sends whispers of promise and intrigue up to their ears only they understand, coercing them along to a fate they’re unaware of.

The corruption guides the figure up the stairs of a red-bricked building. The Faceless stumbles as it climbs the steps, but makes it nonetheless. Like a zombie, the figure’s weak and limp arm struggles to open the door at the top of the stairs. With a drunken gait, it walks inside, shutting the door behind it.

The cracks take action. The corruption seeps into the grout of the building and forces itself inside. It grasps the surface of the place and bends it with a loud groan. The impossible greenery growing around the outside dies off with an animalistic screech, the branches snapping off and falling to the ground with a lifeless thud. The foliage ultimately dissolves to dust.

With a loud sloshing sound and a myriad of whispers, the black sludge encompasses the building, ensuring the figure that walked inside will never come out.


End file.
